RESIDENT EVIL
by DarkSeraphim1
Summary: I was playing REmake, and started wondering just what it had to be like for the characters between games. I mean, beyond the files and short endings. So, I did a little marathon with all the main games, and this is what I got. Rated "M" for violence and language. HET, Multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Resident Evil, or any of its characters. I'm just a humble fan who was highly disappointed by RE5. Fortunately, RE6 is _more _than making up for it! Thank you, Capcom, for the return of the zombies!

**Synopsis:** I was playing the Resident Evil REmake, and started wondering just what it had to be like for the characters between games. I mean, beyond the files and short endings. Not to mention, why they killed off some potentially decent characters so quickly. This is what happens when I get bored. So, here goes nothing. . .

**Author's Note:** This one's HET. Just a warning for all the yaoi lovers out there. This is the story I was referring to in the author's note in chapter six of The Gauntlet. This story will—eventually—have the kickass Wesker battle that The Gauntlet lacked, and it will encompass all of the characters and main games of the series. There might be references to Survivor and Dead Aim later on, but I won't explore them at length, as they were side stories (and I no longer own a copy of Survivor). And keep in mind that this was written before RE5 and all of the Wii RE games, so if there are any inconsistencies from The Umbrella Chronicles and such, they will be largely ignored. I'm sticking to the original games—except for the Remake and CVX—and their files, as well as the original Wesker's Report. Enjoy, anyway=).

* * *

RESIDENT EVIL

Chapter One

_Pain._

He woke to a world of pain. It bowed his body with its intensity, burning like acid as it coursed through his veins, bathing the night in a sheen of red-gold flame. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, his hands grasping fistfuls of grass and dirt as he fought to keep silent. He longed to scream as his agony mounted, to pray for the release of blessed oblivion, but both were denied him. He was terrified that the slightest sound would give his position away, and that the monsters would return to finish what they had started.

He could hear them even now, prowling the wilderness around him, their growls low and menacing. Occasionally, the growls would multiply and deepen, usually following the frightened squeal of a dying animal. He wondered how the others had fared, if they had survived the vicious attack that injured him so badly, but he had no way of knowing. He could only hope that his comrades had made it to safety, that his death had bought them enough time to get away.

_His death? _He frowned at the thought, exhaling harshly as the pain ebbed once more. He wasn't dead, was he? Of course not, he assured himself quickly. He was hurt—badly, if the pain was any indication—but he was still breathing. And you didn't feel pain if you were dead, did you?

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at they quickly adjusted to the darkness surrounding him. He was shocked at the amount of detail he could see, at how clear everything seemed. A tree towered over him, and his gaze locked on it with growing disbelief. He could see the different shades of brown in the bark, could see the miniscule insects that crept or scurried up its sturdy length. He could see the veins in the leaves, the dew that was just beginning to form on their silky surfaces, and he was afraid.

His hearing seemed to be strangely acute, as well. He could hear the normal things; the wind as it howled through the forest canopy, the rustle of leaves as that same breeze whipped them to and fro, the grass as it was crushed beneath his shifting body. But there was more. Those same insects that he could see on the tree trunk, he could now _hear_ them as well. There was the muted chatter of a squirrel near the top, the caw of birds somewhere in the distance, and-of course—the snarls of those damned dogs.

He raised his head slowly, glancing down his body to survey the damage. His gray shirt was nearly black with blood, which had soaked through clothes, making them cling coldly to his skin. _His unmarked skin!_ He raised his hands slowly, and was astonished to see that they were whole. They were also caked in blood, as was most of his body, but there no wounds of any kind to be seen. After an attack as vicious as the one he'd just been subjected to, shouldn't there be?!

His panicked gaze landed on a spot directly beneath the tree, and he nearly sobbed with relief. His Remington M870 Tactical shotgun lay at his side, blood-spattered but intact, and he cautiously inched his hand towards it. He dragged it across his body and carefully opened it, freezing for a moment as the sound seemed to echo around him. He reached into his waist pack, which was surprisingly untouched, and pulled out a box of shells. He reloaded the gun and closed it as carefully as he had opened it.

He glanced around with fearful eyes, noting with sudden satisfaction that at least two of the mutated Dobermans that had attacked him were lying to his right, their grotesque bodies littered with bullet holes. He smiled to himself even as his eyes filled with tears. Yes, he had bought Jill and the others enough time.

He was still lying in the same spot he'd been ambushed in, so his comrades obviously hadn't been able to get to him. He saw a mutilated body sitting in the derelict chopper not more than four feet away, and flinched as the memories came rushing back. Finding his former teammates' downed helicopter, the search for any Bravo Team survivors. He had found Kevin Dooley's body himself, just before he had been rushed by the pack of monstrous dogs. Kevin had been a helicopter pilot for the Raccoon City Police Department, on loan to the Special Tactics And Rescue Service, and he had been a good friend.

The pain came again, still staggering in its sheer intensity, but this time he was able to push it aside. He knew that if he stayed here, he wouldn't survive long. He wasn't sure how he was alive, as it was. If he could only find the others, regroup with Alpha Team, everything would be alright. There was safety in numbers, after all.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Joseph Frost clutched the shotgun to his chest and pushed himself to his feet. The night went still around him, the sudden silence of nature in the presence of a predator. He narrowed his eyes as he studied his surroundings, keeping himself completely still as he searched for this new threat. He could see nothing out of place as he scanned the dense foliage, and he was suddenly _very _ afraid.

The drumming of multiple feet came from the distance, followed by the snarls he was quickly coming to hate. He knew what that sound heralded, and he mourned that he would never see his teammates again, even as he prepared for battle. He put his back to the tree he had been attacked under and waited with grim fatalism. Somehow, he had been lucky enough to survive once. He knew that he wouldn't get another chance.

The dogs came rushing towards him, six in number, their exposed muscles gleaming as they ran. Joseph pumped the Remington and drew a bead on the closest, determined to take as many with him as he could. Before he could pull the trigger, the entire pack stopped abruptly. There was a moment of tense silence as they slowly crept closer, their heads lowered, confusing him with their sudden lack of aggression. High-pitched whines issued from their desiccated throats as they came to a stop at his feet, their heads touching the ground, their blank eyes rolled upwards—towards _him._

"What the hell?" he muttered uneasily. He knew enough about dogs to know this was the behavior of a normal canine in the presence of a more dominant dog. But why the hell were they abasing themselves before _him?!_ Something wasn't right here, and he had no idea what it was.

The biggest dog snarled at the others and stole closer, its emaciated frame trembling as it halted just inches from his booted feet. Joseph watched with disbelief as the big male—obviously the alpha—nosed his combat boots with a slime-covered nose. He was shaking himself as he looked down at the Doberman's dead eyes, and was shocked by what he saw reflected in the lusterless white orbs.

It was him, and yet it _wasn't._ His features were the same, pretty yet masculine at the same time, though the dried blood smeared across his face ruined the effect somewhat. His thick brown hair was still a tad too long, kept out of his face by his favorite red bandana. But his eyes—the big brown eyes that all of his girlfriends had loved, and his teammates had teased him about—were gone. Or rather, they had been _changed._ No longer a deep, caramel brown, they blazed with amber fire, a fire that screamed _not human!_

What the fuck is going on! Joseph cried silently, unconsciously withdrawing from what he saw mirrored in those lifeless pits. He pressed himself back against the tree, as though that would help him escape the horror that was staring straight into his uncomprehending mind. The tree's rough bark cut into his back, but he barely noticed, caught up in the unbelievable horror he was very much afraid he had become.

A faint crackling sounded in the distance and the dogs darted away from him. He let out a shaky sigh of relief, but the feeling was short-lived. What the hell had they stumbled into out here in this isolated region of the Arklay Mountains? What had happened to those dogs? Their flesh hung grotesquely off of their bodies, almost as if they were decomposing, yet they were undeniably alive. How was that even possible?

Joseph glanced at what was left of Kevin and was immediately swamped with grief. He couldn't leave him here, he thought inanely. What if those dogs came back, and mauled his corpse? Kevin deserved to be buried properly, to have a decent funeral—

The sound of gunshots ripped through the night, cutting into his inner dialogue, nearly overwhelming his too-sensitive ears. Shuddering as the repeated blasts thundered through his skull, he uttered a curse and sprinted past what was left of his friend. He heard a man's shout of pain and put on a burst of speed. He ran into a small clearing and found a lone man shooting the mutated dogs with what looked like a .9 millimeter pistol. Blood poured from a wound on his left arm, and showed through the right leg of his dark blue denim jeans. The guy's eyes were narrowed, his expression showing both desperation and fear, as he backed away from the advancing pack.

Not again, Joseph thought frantically. He couldn't let this happen, again!

He strafed to his left and aimed at the dog furthest from the man, the one caught at the back of the salivating horde. He pulled the trigger and the dog was thrown to the ground with a pathetic yelp. Two of the others turned towards him, their putrefied muzzles drawing back from their elongated teeth as they snarled, dripping saliva and who knew what else. Then, they did something totally unexpected—they drew away from the pack and disappeared into the depths of the night-black forest.

The others quickly followed suit, running from _him_, Joseph realized, though he still wasn't sure why. The stranger was firing after them, his deep blue eyes showing hatred. Joseph stepped forward, intending to question the other man, when he suddenly swung around. Those midnight eyes widened dramatically, and he found himself staring down the pistol's barrel. He opened his mouth to speak, and then everything went black.

* * *

Billy Coen watched dispassionately as the man—and he used that term loosely—dropped to the ground before him like a stone. He shuddered and lowered his handgun, approaching the body with tentative steps. A single, near-perfect entrance wound now graced the dead man's forehead, right below the stained red bandana that covered the man's hair. A small trail of blood leaked from the small gunshot wound, a more copious amount spreading out beneath the guy's head.

He thought of the way the man's inhuman eyes had blazed as he'd stepped into the moonlight and shook his head. "Fucking Umbrella," he uttered softly, sadly. He reloaded his gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, where he could pull it out quickly if needed. He knelt beside the dead man, intent on searching him for ammunition, when he noticed the insignia on the bloodstained gray shirt.

"You were a member of S.T.A.R.S., huh?" Billy shook his head at the waste, even as his mind flashed back to the woman he had so recently parted company with. The girl, he reminded himself. Officer Rebecca Chambers, the newest member of S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team, he remembered her saying. A beautiful, courageous, barely-legal eighteen-year-old girl. God, he missed her!

"Did you know Rebecca?" he asked, smiling slightly despite the grim circumstances. They guy wasn't going to be talking to him—or anyone else—anytime soon. A bullet to the forehead tended to have that effect on you.

"Of course, you did," he continued, speaking more to keep himself sane than anything else. "Smart girl, that one. Cute, too. And brave as hell. She threatened to shoot me, you know. Warned me not to try anything funny."

Billy laughed softly to himself as he found the man's waist-pack and opened it. He found four boxes of shotgun shells, one .9 millimeter magazine, a Samurai Edge handgun, and _three_ first aid sprays. "Thank God," he said fervently. "I don't know which hurts worse, the arm or the leg. I tell you, if I never see another Dobie again, it'll be too soon."

Of course, if it hadn't been for that same pack of mutts attacking his MP "escort" and killing them, Billy would be a dead man himself. Or an Umbrella monster, he thought with dark humor. Right now, he wasn't sure if the firing squad wouldn't have been preferable to what he had gone through in the last twenty-four hours.

"But then, I wouldn't have met Rebecca," he murmured to the dead man as he opened the torn section of his jeans. "And that would have been a real shame. I wouldn't have missed her for the world. So, I guess it was all worth it, in the end."

He sprayed the wound liberally, relaxing a bit as the pain began to recede, and bandaged it tightly. He did the same to his arm, grateful that, while the dog bites had hurt like hell, at least they wouldn't turn him into a flesh-eating zombie. Otherwise, both he and Rebecca would've turned after those two dogs had broken out of their cages on the Umbrella train.

"Of course, if I die out here tonight, I might not feel the same." Billy sighed and shook his head. Maybe, those Marine doctors had been right. Maybe, he really was crazy. Sane men didn't talk to corpses they themselves had made, after all. "I was kind of hoping that some of you had made it, you know. Rebecca went into that damned mansion looking for some guy named Enrico. Her captain, I think. I hope like hell the others did better _you._ Otherwise, I'm going to be pissed as hell."

He returned to the waist-pack and grabbed the handgun magazine. It wasn't much—only fifteen rounds—but he'd find more once he hit Raccoon City. He slipped the magazine into his back pocket, along with the last of the first aid sprays and the loaded handgun. He was reaching for the shotgun shells when the body at his side began to _move._ He jumped to his feet, drawing his pistol and backing away, fear surging through him with every step.

"What the—?" Billy watched with astonished horror as the guy's back arched off of the ground, drawing his body taut, his hands digging into the thick carpet of grass under him. The bullet hole in the man's forehead began to move on its own, expanding and contracting with increasing momentum, and Billy knew that he was in deep shit.

"No fucking way! This is _not_ happening!" Billy knew that the guy had been dead. He'd shot him himself, dammitt! None of the zombies he had fought, either on the train or in the Umbrella training facility, had revived after a direct headshot. What the hell was going on here?

He stared in perverse fascination as the bullet hole widened, expanding to expel the bullet he had put there. The slightly flattened projectile slid out of the hole and down the side of the man's already blood-soaked face, leaving a fresh trail of blood along his temple before disappearing into the grass. Then, the wound began to _close_ on its own. Shit, the dead guy was healing after losing gray-matter!

As suddenly as they had started, the man's convulsions stopped. His big body slowly relaxed, going limp as his head lolled to one side. He released a deep, audible breath, mumbling something that sounded like, "Jill", just before he began to _snore._

"Holy shit!" Billy breathed, hesitantly lowering the gun, though he didn't put it away. The dead guy had not only healed himself, but he had _spoken._ Not the inarticulate moan of a resurrected zombie, not the inhuman roar of a Proto-Tyrant, but an actual _word_. Whatever the man was—and he definitely wasn't human with those eyes—he might not be a mindless Umbrella B.O.W. After all, he'd never seen a B.O.W. fire a weapon at another bioweapon. That just didn't happen.

A researcher, maybe? He and Rebecca had come across numerous files, both in the training facility and on the train. He knew that one group of researchers had already been dispatched to the facility, and that the second group had been ordered to look into reopening the place. Could this guy be one of them?

But he was wearing a S.T.A.R.S. uniform, Billy reminded himself uneasily, and he was armed to the teeth. Not a researcher, then. His mind flashed back to the train, and the two men in riot gear that had started the derelict train, and ultimately caused it to crash. Their uniforms had sported a patch that read U.S.F.U.. They were probably members of the Umbrella Special Forces Unit, which Billy had heard rumors about while in the stockade. Paid mercenaries who did all of Umbrella Inc.'s dirty work, and got rich in the process.

Or he could be another poor slob like himself, a military man who had been sentenced to death, and given a choice that amounted to nearly the same thing. The Umbrella Corporation had a nasty little habit of making deals with condemned men, using them to staff the U.B.C.S.—Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. Or The Suicide Squad, as the other prisoners had called it.

Or maybe, this man had killed the S.T.A.R.S. member who's uniform he now wore. Killed the guy and used his I.D. to escape whatever might be left of Rebecca's unit, Bravo Team. Only one way to find out, Billy thought with a wince. Damn, the last thing he wanted to do was get close to the guy, again!

Billy inched towards the motionless figure, the now-superfluous handgun aimed right at the man's head. It probably wouldn't do any good, but killing the guy again would buy him time to escape, if it came to that. If there was one thing Billy Coen was getting good at, it was surviving near-impossible odds, and escaping near-death scenarios with his hide intact.

"Alright," he muttered tensely, his cobalt eyes never leaving the prone figure, "here goes nothing."

He crouched next to the unconscious man and snagged the waist-pack in his free hand. He quickly dragged it a few feet away, and searched it a little more thoroughly. He found a brown wallet and quickly flipped it open. A shiny gold badge rested in fine leather, and a R.P.D. identification card lay in the opposite flap. Joseph Frost, and an I.D. number, along with a picture of the guy he'd just shot—and watched come back to life.

He found a picture folded and stashed behind the I.D. card. He opened it and grinned immediately. A drop-dead gorgeous woman in a similar uniform—obviously another S.T.A.R.S. member—stood in the forefront of the picture. She was holding what looked to be a set of lock-picking tools in one hand, and a .9 millimeter Beretta in the other. The dark-blue beret covering her dark hair, not to mention the come-hither smile, definitely made an impression.

"Damn, you're a lucky man. She's got a great rack," he told the sleeping man humorously. He put the picture back and closed the wallet, sealing it safely in the waist-pack. "Okay, so you're S.T.A.R.S.. Now, what do I do?"

The man continued to snore, and Billy had to smile, despite the bizarre circumstances. The guy might not or might not be human, but he _had_ saved his life. That meant that Billy couldn't just plug him in the head and take off. He owed this guy his life. The least he could do was stick around until the guy woke up. Make sure he didn't get eaten by the mutts, and whatever else might be out here tonight.

And he wasn't a murderer, Billy thought with a sudden scowl, no matter what those assholes back at the base had chosen to believe. He owed this guy, and he was going to find a way to repay him. It was that freakin' simple.

He glanced around the clearing and spied the dead mutt's corpse. If they were going to be stuck here for a while, he didn't want that thing just lying around, attracting all sorts of scavengers. He dragged the dog to a point just beyond the clearing and let it there. He'd build a fire, find some way to restrain this Joseph Frost, and he'd wait. Eventually the guy had to wake up, and Billy had a hellova lot of questions for him. Namely, what had happened to make him whatever the hell he was, and to determine whether or not this highly-trained, not-quite human cop was a threat to him.

"Yeah, right, Coen." Billy continued to talk to himself as he approached the body and pulled a set of handcuffs off the man's belt. "You're a wanted man, now. A fugitive. Even if this guy _were _ human, he'd be a threat to you."

He also grabbed the guy's shotgun and all of the shells, setting them well out of reach. He couldn't chance leaving this _policeman_ armed. "Remember that firing squad, Billy-boy. That's definitely not where you want to be."

He cuffed the man's hands in front of him and pocketed the key. He grabbed the cop's boots and dragged him to the other side of the clearing, away from the blood that had pooled beneath him. There was a faint trail of it following them, but at least the predators would start at the other side. That would give him time to shoot the damn animals _before_ they reached him.

He gathered some twigs under the canopy of a large tree, where the dew hadn't dampened the grass quite as much, and used his trusty gold lighter to start a fire. He put his .9 millimeter away, leaned back against the tree trunk, and pulled the shotgun across his legs. He cracked it open to find it almost full. Minus the shot used to save my ass, he thought with a smirk. He replaced the missing shell and closed the gun, leaving the safety off, and made sure it was pointed in the cop's general direction. Just in case sleeping beauty wasn't a morning person.

He laid his head back and closed his eyes briefly, wishing that he could sleep. God, but he was tired! He'd been running for more than twenty-four hours, and he was simply exhausted. He'd battled zombies, mutated monkeys, and other assorted horrors. He'd also fallen for a great girl in the process. Too bad he couldn't stay with her, he thought sourly. But Rebecca was one of those sunny people who believed in right and wrong, good or evil, black and white. She was a brave, respectable woman, and she didn't deserve to be dragged down by someone like him.

That she'd let _him_ go, even though he was a convicted mass-murderer, still shocked him. He hadn't truly expected her to believe him when he'd told her that he was innocent, but she had surprised him by accepting what little he'd been willing to give her. He'd realized early on that she wanted to believe him, because circumstances had forced them to cooperate to survive, but hadn't expected her to just let him go as she had.

Billy rubbed the spot on his chest where his dogtags had lain, smiling as he remembered the feel of her hand so briefly against skin. She'd snatched the tags off his neck, and declared Billy Coen dead. Then, she'd smiled, saluted him, and walked away. He'd stared after her, wishing like hell he could go with her. Instead, he had turned and gone the opposite way, leaving them both to their separate fates.

He thought about that big mansion they'd seen this morning, sitting innocently at the bottom of the cliff. He had made it a few miles today, but he was still close. He could go back, find a way inside, and. . .

"And what, Coen?" he questioned himself harshly. "Go inside, get killed by a monster—or worse—Rebecca's own teammates? No, you stay right here, see what happens with Officer Frost over there, and then go into Raccoon City as planned."

He heaved a harsh sigh, angry at himself for even considering going back. He needed to get to the city, find a place to hole up for a while. He needed clothes, money, food, and sleep. And more ammo, he thought with another sigh. There probably wouldn't be any monsters in Raccoon City; it was far enough away that it probably hadn't been touched by James Marcus' madness. But he was through taking chances. Somehow, he was going to keep himself alive and free. And someday, he promised himself fiercely, he would find a way to see Rebecca Chambers again.

* * *

Joseph opened his eyes slowly, not sure what had awakened him. He turned his head to the right and was immediately blinded by bright red-orange light. He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning as heat from the fire that had just rendered his too-sensitive eyes useless seemed to burn at his skin. He started to move away and realized that his hands were bound. He squinted his eyes and saw that he was wearing a set of steel handcuffs. Probably his own, he thought with a flash of anger, continuing to wiggle away from the intense heat.

He heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered and turned his head in that direction. The man he had rescued earlier was sitting on the other side of that bright campfire, holding his own Remington on him. "Hold it right there," the man said flatly, and Joseph had no doubt he'd be shot on the spot if he didn't do exactly that.

He stopped moving, but couldn't help an involuntary flinch. "The fire burns," he threw out in an unintentionally harsh voice. "I was just moving away from it."

The other man gazed at him for a long moment before nodding curtly. Joseph took that as permission and pulled his body into a sitting position. He scooted back awkwardly, putting much-needed distance between himself and the flames. He looked down at his body, surprised to see that the fire hadn't touched him. He looked up and met the other man's gaze, his eyes already adjusting to that large ball of flame, and was shocked by the fear he saw lurking in their cold midnight depths.

"What's wrong?" he asked, glancing around them uneasily. "Are we being watched?"

The other man shook his dark head negatively. "If you could see yourself right now, you wouldn't be asking that particular question."

Unbidden came the memory of his face reflected in the rotting dog's eyes, and Joseph flinched. "My eyes," he stated, his voice weary. "They're still. . .different, aren't they?"

"Yeah, that's one word for it," the stranger muttered, half under his breath. "You're a cop, right? A member of S.T.A.R.S.. Are you Bravo Team?"

Joseph shook his head slowly, wishing he could remember just what had happened after he had saved this man's life. "Got transferred to Alpha Team two weeks ago," he answered with a frown. "What about you? What do you know about Bravo Team?"

The other man shrugged negligently, drawing attention to the tattoo that snaked down the entire length of his right arm. "I'm nobody. Just some schmuck who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He doubted that that was the whole truth, and the guy had completely ignored his question, but he wasn't in a position to argue right now. "What happened?" he asked finally. "After I saved you, I mean?"

The stranger looked away for a moment before meeting his gaze squarely. "I shot you," he stated at length. "One shot, right between the eyes."

"Impossible," Joseph returned, his frown deepening as he pointed out, "That would have killed me, and I'm obviously not dead."

"Well, you were," the other man snapped in return, "for all of five minutes. Until your body pushed the damn bullet out and healed."

Shimmering amber eyes widened dramatically, and for a minute, Billy thought that the guy was going to cry. Great, just what he needed, he thought caustically, a sensitive one. "Look, when I saw your eyes, I panicked," he said defensively. "I thought you were a new kind of zombie, or some other monster, and I shot you. I'm sorry," he finished angrily, adding, "I think."

Joseph looked down at his bound hands and nodded, wondering what the man meant by "zombie". "What are you going to do with me?" he questioned in a quiet voice.

Billy scowled at that. "Not a damned thing," he snapped, shoving a hand into one of pockets and searching for the key. He found it, stared at it for a moment, and prayed that he wasn't about to make a mistake.

"Here," he said abruptly, tossing the key in the cop's direction. He watched, not at all surprised, as the man's bound hands shot out to snatch the key from the cold pre-dawn air.

Joseph looked at the small key in his bounds hands with surprise. "Why?" he asked even as he began to work on the cuffs.

Billy smiled faintly as he thought of Rebecca. "Because it's the right thing to do," he murmured, adding, "and I can always shoot you again if I've made a mistake."

"True." Joseph removed the cuffs and put them back on his belt. He went to put the key in his supply pack and found it gone. "My supplies—"

"Are right here." Billy held up the waist-pack and threw it to him. "I took all of your weapons and ammo, so don't get any ideas."

"No problem there," Joseph said on a sigh. He put the key in the nearly empty pack and checked his wallet. His I.D. and badge were still there, along with the little picture he kept hidden behind them. He gazed at it for a moment, smiling, before putting it away.

"She's got an amazing rack," Billy threw out with a shark's grin. "That's one gorgeous woman. She your girl?"

Joseph's head came up as he realized that the man had invaded his privacy by going through his belongings. Of course, he'd thought he was dead, so he couldn't get too pissed. He'd have done the same. "She was," he said, his smile turning sad. "Now. . .I don't even know if she's alive."

Billy nodded, tunneling a hand through his dark hair, as he thought of Rebecca. "Believe me, I know the feeling."

Joseph studied him for a long moment. "I don't know exactly what's happened to me," he began slowly, "but I'm not going to hurt you."

"How did that," Billy made a vague gesture towards his head, "happen?"

"I was attacked by the same pack of dogs I saved you from," Joseph answered with a shudder. "I'd found Kevin—Bravo Team's pilot—dead, and I got jumped right afterwards. I don't remember much after that, just waking up in a lot of pain, in the same place I was attacked."

He drew his knees up before him and wrapped his arms around him. "I saw a couple of those dogs after I, uh, woke up. They'd been shot, so I think some of Alpha Team may have escaped. I need to find my teammates, and—"

"Bad idea," Billy cut in, his voice firm. "I shot you before I knew who you were. If those people watched you die, and see you again with those eyes, they're going to assume you're a zombie. They'll kill you even quicker than I did, and I doubt they'll wait around to see you if you wake up again. If you want to stay alive, you'd be better off sticking with me."

The cop looked by surprised by his words, and Billy couldn't blame him. He was shocked that he had spoken them, himself! "Uh, what I mean is. . ."

Joseph waited for him to continue, frowning when he failed to. "You mean, that you think we should cooperate?" he questioned hesitantly.

Billy blinked before mumbling, "Yeah, I guess I do."

He thought that over, his longing to see Jill again battling with his common sense. He had no idea where they were now, although they couldn't be that far away from the S.T.A.R.S. helicopter. "Brad," he said suddenly, his face lighting up.

"Who's Brad?" Billy asked warily.

"Brad Vickers, our pilot," Joseph explained, stumbling over his words in his excitement. "We came in by helicopter, and the Captain ordered old Chickenheart to wait for us while we searched for Bravo Team. So, the 'copter should still be there."

"Chickenheart?" Billy questioned, thinking of the helicopter he'd seen from the Umbrella train earlier that night—the one flying _out_ of the Arklay Mountains.

"Yeah." The cop smiled, and suddenly his eyes didn't look quite so inhuman. "Brad's a coward in the truest sense of the word, but he's a great pilot. And he's terrified of Captain Wesker, so he wouldn't even think of running."

_Wesker._ The name tugged at Billy's memory, and he focused on it, only to have it slip away. Chalk it up to not enough sleep, he thought with a mental shrug. Aloud, he said, "We're only a couple of hours away from sunrise. I doubt your comrades are still here. They've probably flown out by now."

"God, I hope you're right." Joseph rubbed the back of his neck, wondering just what he should do now. "If I cooperate with you, will you tell me who you are?"

The strangers lips thinned, the only sign of his displeasure. "The name's Billy," he said, his reluctance obvious.

"Call me Joe." Joseph ignored the fact that Billy hadn't given him a last name. He'd find out who he was eventually, once they made it back to the S.T.A.R.S. office in the R.P.D. building. "I'm Alpha Team's Omni Man."

Billy midnight eyes flickered as he nodded. "Weapons Specialist?"

"Weapons, vehicle maintenance. . ." Joseph's voice trailed off as he shrugged. "I do whatever is necessary to keep my teammates alive. What about you?"

The other man grunted and didn't answer. "If I give you your gun back, will you not shoot me?" he asked instead.

Joseph laughed at that. "No, I won't you shoot you, Billy."

The man who called himself Billy smiled faintly and rose to his feet. He circled the fire, coming to a stop directly before him, and held out the Remington stock-first. Joseph knew it was his way of apologizing for his earlier actions, as well as his present mistrust. And he couldn't blame him. If he'd seen a man step out of the woods with animalistic eyes, he might have done the same thing.

"Thanks." He took his favorite shotgun and carefully set it beside him. He nodded towards the Beretta tucked into the back of the other man's jeans. "Is that all you've got?"

"Yes," Billy answered as he returned to his spot beneath the tree. He'd left the shotgun with Rebecca for her safety. "I took the .9 millimeter mag, by the way. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I never use my pistol." Joseph paused for a moment. "I suppose you took that, too?"

Billy grinned and lifted his right pants' leg. The Beretta's stock stuck out of the top of his cowboy boot, and Joseph laughed again. "You weren't going to mention that, then?"

"Not if you didn't." Billy chuckled as he covered it once more. "I'd planned on making my way to Raccoon City tonight. Are you game?"

Joseph blinked at the abrupt change in topic. "Yeah, I'm game."

"Good." Billy knelt before the fire and began it. "Let's get the hell out of here then, before those zombie-dogs come back."

"Zombie?" he questioned as he rose to his feet. "That's the second time you've used that term. What do you mean?"

Billy cursed as he realized that this guy had no idea what been unleashed in the Arklay Mountains. "Your team was sent in here blind?" he asked, unable to mask his anger. "What were your superiors thinking?"

"It was Captain Wesker's call," Joseph said with another frown. "Bravo Team was sent in to investigate the cannibalistic murders that have been reported up here in the last few weeks. They disappeared shortly after their arrival tonight. When they failed to report their progress, the captain decided not to take any chances."

"And it was Alpha Team to the rescue?" Billy was shaking his head, even as he again wondered why that name sounded so damned familiar. "There's been an outbreak here, Joe. Umbrella has been working on bioweapons in their old training facility for years. Those dogs are just one of the many B.O.W.s created by the T-virus."

Joseph's frown deepened as he tried to make sense of the other man's words. "You're talking about Umbrella Inc., the pharmaceutical company?"

"Yeah, only that's a front," Billy told him. "They've been working on creating the perfect biological weapon since the '50's, and one of the scientists responsible for creating the T-virus was also the asshole who released it."

"How do you know all this?" Joseph pinned him beneath a suspicious stare. "Are you one these scientists?"

"Hell, no!" Billy replied with another scowl. "I, uh, had engine trouble tonight, and my car died out here. I went looking for help, and I found a train. I went inside, thinking I could use their radio or something. That's when I saw my first zombie. I learned the rest from files I found scattered around the place."

"You keep using that term," Joseph said slowly. "Exactly what do you mean by 'zombie'?"

"What do you think I mean?' Billy snapped, hating that he had explain himself at all, especially since he had to lie while doing it. "A zombie. You know, a dead body that walks around and tries to eat anything it comes across. Just like in the movies," he added with exasperation.

Joseph stared at him with disbelief. "And that's what those dogs were?" he asked, his doubt apparent.

"Yes!" Billy took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Look, Officer Frost, we're in a world of shit. We need to get off this mountain, before the virus spreads any further. I don't care if you believe me or not. I'm getting the fuck out of here while I still can, and I suggest you do the same."

"Together?" Joseph questioned, his voice sharp. "You won't leave me behind because I'm. . .different?"

"Unless you attack me, you've got yourself a partner," the other man told him. "We stand a better chance of surviving that way. But it's up to you. Come with me or not. Either way, I'm still out of here."

He was right, Joseph thought philosophically. Two guns were better than one, especially when one of them only had a .9 millimeter. "Okay, then," he said simply. He secured his waist-pack, checked the Remington, and walked to his side. "Do you have enough ammo for your pistol?"

"No," Billy answered bluntly as they began to walk, "but that doesn't matter. I've got my knife, if it comes down to it. I won't go down without a fight."

Joseph nodded, smiling a little. "You're a hard man, Billy."

"You have no idea," Billy stated flatly. He drew his pistol and prayed that they wouldn't run into anything they couldn't handle. Of course, if Frost's eyes were any indication, there might not be anything that _he _couldn't. "So tell me, Joe, are your eyes the only thing that have changed since you were attacked?"

Startled, Joseph paused while he considered the question. "Actually," he began slowly, "I've noticed that my eyes and ears are more sensitive, now. I can see better, and I can hear almost everything."

"How do you mean?" Billy asked as patiently as he could.

"I can see everything clearly, even though there's almost no light," Joseph answered uncomfortably. "And my hearing is just as acute. It's. . .weird."

"I bet." Billy fell silent for a long moment, his eyes on the night around them. "So, if something badder than us shows up, you'll hear it before it gets to us?"

"I think so." Joseph shrugged. "I mean, I can hear bugs crawling around in the grass, and stuff like that, so probably."

Billy grunted, not sure if that was good or not. His mind flashed on the campfire, and the cop's reaction to it. "When you woke up, you said that the fire was burning you, even though you weren't that close to it."

"I wasn't?" Joseph asked with surprise. "It certainly felt like it. God, I half-expected to see burn marks on my skin after I moved away from it."

So, super-cop had a weakness, he thought with relief. If the other man turned on him, he'd just have to make sure he set him on fire after he killed him. Aloud, he merely said, "I was just curious."

Joseph slanted him a knowing glance and let the subject drop. If he found himself traveling with someone he'd seen come back from the dead, he'd be wary as hell, too. "Have _you_ got any weaknesses that I should know about?"

Billy's smile was quick and surprisingly charming. "Little brunettes with big guns," he said with a chuckle.

Joseph found himself laughing along with him. "Any one brunette in particular?" he asked. The other man shrugged, and added, "When I mentioned being worried about Jill, you said that you knew how I felt. I was just curious."

"Throw my own words back at me, why don't you." Billy's smile slowly faded as he imagined just what Rebecca might going through right now. "Yeah, I met a woman on the Umbrella Train. A girl, really. Said she was Bravo Team's medic. You might know her. Rebecca Chambers?"

"I've seen her," Joseph answered, knowing his shock showed, "but I transferred right before she joined S.T.A.R.S.. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he demanded, unaware of that his eyes were literally flashing with anger. "If I'd known anyone survived, I might have—"

"Gone looking and gotten yourself killed, again," Billy finished grimly, putting a little space between himself and the guy with the fucked-up animal eyes. "Rebecca went looking for Alpha Team in an abandoned mansion not too far from here, but I don't think your comrades are still here. I think they got out."

"How do you know?" Joseph asked angrily. "They might still be down there, fighting God knows what! We should be there helping them, not going in the opposite direction!"

"Christ!" Billy pinched the bridge of his nose as his admittedly limited patience began to wane. "I saw a helicopter tonight, flying _away_ from the mountains. It was probably your teammates, Joe. They're gone, and we're on our own."

The other man opened his mouth to protest, and Billy had had enough. "Damn it, I don't want to die out here tonight. Okay? So, make up your fucking mind. Either come with me and live, or go back and die again. It's your choice, _Officer._"

Joseph watched as the other man turned on his heel and began to walk away. He was torn between his duty to comrades, and his deep-seated need to live. "Wait!" he called, swearing under his breath as Billy failed to stop.

He jogged to catch up to him, and found himself at the other man's side faster than he'd ever believed possible. "What the hell just happened?" he asked in a frightened voice.

Billy's dark blue eyes were wide as he took several steps back. "I think you can add super-fast speed to that list of enhanced senses," he said shakily.

Joseph looked away, hanging his head as he realized just different he truly was. "I'm not human anymore, am I?" he murmured unevenly.

The desolation in his voice made Billy wince. "You're not like any B.O.W. I've seen," he offered haltingly, wondering why he was even trying. Comforting people wasn't his strong suit. "Maybe, you're just a little. . .super-human now."

"Yeah, right," Joseph spat bitterly, caught up in a rush of self-disgust. "I'm some kind of-of freak now, that's what I am."

Billy wasn't sure what to say to that, and suddenly it didn't matter. A lone figure had come out of the foliage behind the other man, its single eye that blank white he had come to hate so passionately. Its arms were outstretched as it closed in on the other man. Billy didn't shout a warning. He raised the Beretta automatically, aimed for the head, and pulled the trigger.

Joseph watched Billy's gun come up and realized that he was going to die—again. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable, flinching as the gun's retort echoed painfully through his head. He heard a thump behind him, realized that he wasn't dead, and opened his eyes. He whirled around to find a man dead at his feet, but it was unlike any man he had ever seen. It's clothes were stained with blood and torn in several places. The left half of his face was missing, just above the jaw. His only eye was white, just like the dogs' had been, and he was just as dead-looking.

The body kept twitching, even though it didn't move, and a greenish mist was rising from it. He backed away from it with a violent shudder, not wanting to know what that mist, or the foul smell accompanying it, meant. "Is that one of those zombies you were telling me about?" he asked in a voice that trembled.

"Yep, except for the green stuff. That's new." Billy glanced around them nervously. Where there was one zombie, there were usually more. "I don't know why you didn't hear that thing coming, but could you use that super-hearing now to tell me if there's any more of them out there?"

"Uh, sure. I can try." Joseph closed his eyes and held himself still, concentrating on the world around him. He heard the bugs again, the birds, the dogs as they searched for prey—though they were far enough away not be a threat. He tensed as he heard something new, the sound of what might be footsteps in the wet grass, or the slither of clothed legs as they rubbed together. Then came a groan, deep and inhuman, just like in those movies Billy had alluded to earlier.

"Shit, I think there's more of them!" he exclaimed, bringing the shotgun up. "Do they moan like they do in the movies?"

The other man cursed fluently, and he had his answer. "Come on," Billy told him urgently. "We need to be anywhere but here right now."

Joseph nodded vigorously in agreement and followed him as he headed south, in the general direction of Raccoon City. "They can't track us, can they?" he threw out as he forced himself to match the other man's seemingly slow pace.

"Yes," Billy said abruptly, keeping his words short and sweet to conserve energy. "I don't know how, but they can. So, keep moving."

Joseph didn't know how long they had run when the man beside him stumbled and began to slow. While he himself felt exhilarated by the activity, Billy obviously wasn't going to make it much further. He grabbed his arm, ignoring his startled look, and pulled it over his shoulder. Billy didn't comment, just leaned against him and did his best to keep his feet under him, for which Joseph was grateful. He was going to have a hard enough time firing the shotgun with one hand as it was. It would be nearly impossible to be accurate if he were forced to carry the other man.

The sun rose as they ran, bathing the forest in fiery pink-orange light. He winced as his eyes slowly began to water, and he realized that he wasn't going to be able to see much longer, but he didn't dare stop. He wanted to be sure that he put enough distance between them and the reanimated corpses that he no longer heard, but was sure were still there. He spotted a sign that read _Raccoon City Park_, and realized that they'd made it farther than he'd realized.

Raccoon Hospital was near here, Joseph thought with relief. The hospital was currently being investigated for numerous unexplained deaths in the facility, but right now he couldn't afford to be choosy. They hadn't closed the place yet, and Billy was on his last legs. And, he thought uneasily, he wasn't so sure of what his reception would be if he went into the city looking the way he did.

He'd take Billy to the hospital, get him checked out, and maybe clean up a little. If nothing else, he could contact Jill and try to convince her that, not only had he survived the attack, but that he desperately needed her help. He'd tell her not to tell Chris, and to come alone. Melodramatic, but he didn't want Redfield shooting first and feeling guilty later. He'd rather live.

He came to the end of the park, where it bordered Woodbine Drive. He saw Raccoon Hospital just across the street and smiled widely, despite the grim circumstances. "We're almost there," he told his companion happily.

"Wh-Where's 'there'?" Billy asked breathlessly, holding one hand to the sharp ache in his side.

"Raccoon Hospital." Joseph checked the road for traffic, pleasantly surprised to find none.

"Great," Billy muttered under his breath. He hated hospitals even more than he had the stockade.

Joseph helped him across the street and came to a halt just shy of the hospital entrance, absently noting the beautiful plants with the large orange bulbs which greeted them. He lowered Billy to the ground, noting with concern the dark circles under the other man's eyes. "Do you want to rest for a minute?" he asked with concern.

Billy nodded once, nearly insensate as exhaustion threatened to cripple him. "Thanks, for carrying me," he rasped wearily, more than willing to delay the inevitable. "I owe you one."

Joseph shrugged and squatted before him, energy still buzzing through his system. "You look beat," he said, shifting to one side as he scanned their surroundings. "How long has it been since you last slept?"

"Two days," came the garbled answer.

His concern turned to full-blown worry. Forty-eight hours without sleep might not be life-threatening, but it could certainly hinder the reflexes. "Maybe, we should just get to the hospital. You can rest there."

"In a bed?" Billy asked with a hopeful groan, no longer caring if it was a hospital bed or not. "God, that'd be nice!"

Joseph smiled and reached for him, helping him to his unsteady feet. "Can you make it on your own?"

"I damn well will," Billy stated with determination. He met the cop's gaze and frowned darkly. "Why are your eyes all red?"

The cop shot him a dark look, and Billy just sighed. "I mean, why are they watering?" he clarified tiredly. "Do you have allergies or something?"

"Oh." Joseph flushed with embarrassment. "It's just the sun. It's too bright," he explained awkwardly.

"We'll have to find you some sunglasses, then." Billy touched his shoulder awkwardly and jerked his head in the hospital's general direction. "Come on, Joe. We're almost out of this."

They shared a relieved smile, even as both worried about what they might find inside those stone walls. They walked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, when Joseph noticed a strange smell on the wind. He stopped abruptly, his amber eyes widening he spied a greenish cloud coming from one of the pretty orange flowers.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, grabbing Billy's arm and dragging him forward. "Come on!"

"Hey!" Billy stumbled, swore, and righted himself, jerking his arm back. "What the hell are you doing? You nearly dislocated my shoulder!"

"Don't you smell it?" Joseph asked, pointing at the flowers that flanked the hospital entrance as they began to open.

Billy saw the green gas and immediately held his breath. He nodded and ran for the doors, his lungs already screaming. Eventually, he was forced to gulp down air, and his head instantly began to swim. He swore violently and shot one of the bright orange bulbs. It shriveled in on itself, and he kept going, shooting as he ran.

Joseph saw him and did the same, smiling grimly as buckshot took out multiple plants at the same time. They made it to the hospital doors and inexplicably found them locked. Joseph began to bang on them, yelling to be heard by whoever might be inside, even as Billy collapsed on the cold stone stairs.

"Billy!" He reached down and checked the other man's pulse, noting with alarm that it was already shallow, as was his breathing. A fine film of sweat was forming on his skin, which was rapidly becoming clammy. "Billy! Listen to me. I think the gas those flowers were releasing was toxic. You've been poisoned."

Billy's eyes flickered open, a faint smirk curling one corner his lips. "Poison plants, huh?" He laughed, but it quickly turned into a cough. "Well, hell. This certainly isn't how I thought I would go."

"Don't say that!" Joseph told him sharply. "Don't even think it. I'll find a way into the hospital, and we'll get you fixed up. Just sit here and don't try to move, alright?"

"That's not going to be a problem, Officer." Billy gave him a thumbs-up with a hand that shook. "I'm not going anywhere, Joe. I promise you."

He nodded curtly and rose to his feet. He scowled at the still-closed doors of the hospital, raised the Remington, and shoved the stock through the glass with surprising ease. This is an emergency, he told himself, trying to justify the B&E he had just performed. Shit, he was an officer of the law, and here he was, breaking it to save the life of a man who already killed him once.

He reached into the newly-formed hole and fumbled with the lock. It finally disengaged, and he gave both doors a push. They flew open, hitting the walls on either side, before closing once more. Joseph just sighed, not even surprised by what seemed to be an endless list of superhero-like abilities he now seemed to possess.

He knelt beside Billy and pulled his arm around his shoulders. "Come on, Billy. The door's open."

Billy grunted and concentrated on keeping his suddenly limp legs in motion. He watched through bleary eyes as the other man gave one of the doors a small nudge, only to have it fly open as though he'd kicked it. "Shit, Joe, that list is getting longer, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Joseph answered grimly. He pulled Billy through the door, using his shoulder to stop it as it swung back towards them. He dragged his friend inside, taking nearly all of his weight. He spotted a row of expensive low-backed chairs and quickly lowered the other man to one.

He eased the handgun out of Billy's trembling hand and checked it. "Empty," he muttered, giving their plush surroundings a quick perusal. The complete lack of people was disturbing in itself; if there had been an outbreak, as Billy had said, shouldn't this place be crawling with those zombies? And if there hadn't, where the hell were all of the employees?

He shook his head and pulled his own Beretta out of Billy's boot. "Here," he said, wrapping the other man's hand around the gun and thumbing the safety off. "Do you still have that clip you took from me?"

"Y-Yeah." Billy's voice was a mere breath of sound as he reached behind him and pulled the magazine out of his back pocket. "It's right here."

"Good. I'm going to go find a doctor, or some medical supplies. I want you to stay here and rest."

Billy rested the back of his head on the top of the chair. "I just need a blue herb."

Joseph's topaz eyes narrowed at that. "Explain."

He rubbed his forehead with a quivering hand. "In the Umbrella training facility, there were these giant, poisonous frogs. Rebecca found these blue plants in little brown pots, and she ground them up. Made me eat them." He smiled faintly at the memory. "They tasted like crap, but she said that they neutralized the poison in my system."

"Okay, I'll find you some." Joseph rose to his full six-foot-two-inch height and looked down at him with a stern expression. "This place looks clean, but I could be wrong about that. Use the gun to defend yourself if you need to. And when I get back, you can tell me about this training facility you forgot to mention you'd visited earlier."

"Yeah, sure, Joe." Billy sighed fatalistically, very much afraid that he knew how this was going to end. "Just hurry up, or I won't be around to give you any answers."

The other man nodded once and walked away. Billy stared after him for a moment, then gave in to the temptation to close his eyes. It was going to happen all over again, he thought with sorrow. Unless he lied through his teeth when Joe came back, he was probably going to find himself in front of that damned firing squad.

So be it, Billy told himself fiercely. He was through trying to convince anyone that he was an innocent man. None of his fellow marines had believed him. The woman he'd been seeing had dumped him flat, and his father had turned his back on his only son because of the court-martial. His older half-brother, who had been his best friend, hadn't even bothered to contact him. That had hurt most of all. It hadn't mattered to anyone that he'd nearly died trying to stop his squad leader from killing those civilians. The asshole had blamed the entire thing on Billy, his so-called brothers-in-arms had backed him in his lie, and his own family had believed him.

Joe wouldn't believe _him_, he knew. After all, he'd already shot the man once tonight, and he hadn't shown much remorse. Of course, the circumstances were just a little unusual, but he didn't think that would help much. Once Joseph Frost discovered that his traveling partner had been convicted of mass-murder, and that he had spent three years in a military mental institution, it would be game over.

And the worst part of it was that Billy knew he wouldn't be able to take the other man's life to keep his freedom. He wasn't a killer, despite what everyone thought. He was a soldier through and through, and he was never taking anyone's shit again—even if it cost him his life.

* * *

Joseph gripped the Remington tightly as he searched the hospital. So far, he hadn't seen any people, dead or otherwise. Damn it, this was a working hospital. Why weren't there any employees here? Doctors, nurses, orderlies, anybody? The silence would have been deafening if it hadn't been broken by Billy's shallow breathing. Even from here, he could hear the other man's as his lungs labor to draw breath. Why the hell wasn't anyone coming out to help them?

He opened the door to yet another examination room with a sigh. He hadn't seen any herbs—blue or otherwise—and he was worried. Billy might be secretive, but he had accepted Joseph and all of this strange new abilities. Not too many people would have been willing to do that. Hell, he didn't even know if his own comrades would be able to. He was sworn to protect those weaker than him, and right now, Billy was one those people.

He could tell that the other man wasn't used to relying on others. Joseph suspected that he was a loner. Why that was, he didn't know, and he wasn't going to ask. At least, not until they had both had a chance to rest, and recover from the horrors they had witnessed.

He opened a door labeled, "Reference Room", again deserted, except for a white aerosol bottle. He grinned and pocketed it, then went through the door on the far side of the room. It opened into another hallway, and he merely sighed. Whoever had designed this place had done a horrible job, he thought with a frown. He spied a pretty plant with big blue leaves near an elevator and quickly scooped it up, pot and all. He didn't know how to grind the damn thing, but maybe Billy did. As it was, he now had the means to save the other man's life.

Joseph heard a faint noise and froze, straining to identify the sound. Nothing but silence greeted him, and he pushed aside a sense of dread. If it was a zombie, it probably would have moaned by now, he tried to assure himself as he quickly left the deserted corridor. And those dogs hadn't been capable of keeping silent, their growls and snarls instinctive noises. The zombies' inarticulate groans were likely the same.

He hurried back to the reception room, to find Billy sprawled low in the chair, which had to be damned uncomfortable. "I found one," he announced, hiding a wince as the other man opened unfocused blue eyes. He pulled the plant out of the pot, the dangling roots dropping crumbs of dirt to the carpet. "Do you know how to—"

"I've got it." Billy's voice was a mere thread of sound as he accepted the herb and quickly began to tear at the leaves.

Joseph watched silently as the other man tore off one of the leaves and began chewing. The look on his face suggested that it tasted horrible, but it didn't stop him from forcing down every last bit of the vegetation. "Are you sure that's enough?" he asked with quiet concern.

Billy closed his eyes and pushed himself up higher in the chair. "Yeah, it should be," he responded shakily, adding, "Unless you found a green herb to go with it?"

"No, sorry." Joseph smiled faintly and dropped to the seat beside him. "Will this do?"

Billy saw the silver can of first-aid spray and began to laugh. He didn't answer, merely grabbed the can and used it. He immediately began to feel better, although his energy was still low. "Now, how about a steak, a beer, and a bed?"

Joseph joined his laughter. "I wish," he said wistfully. "The place seems deserted, so me might be able to sleep, but that's about it."

"That'll work." Billy rubbed a hand over his face and shoved himself to his feet. "God, I'm fucking tired!"

"We still need to talk," Joseph reminded him, though without heat.

"I know." He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, as he looked down at the seated man. "You won't like what you hear, Joe. In fact, you might regret saving me."

Dread coiled in Joseph's gut at his words. "Did you work for Umbrella?" he asked bluntly.

"No!" Billy replied, startled by his words. He looked for a way to tell him just what he had been convicted of, and couldn't find the words. "I'm. . .a used to be a Marine. There was this incident in Africa. . ."

He remained silent, waiting for him to continue. The hard-faced man he barely knew looked uncertain, almost afraid, and Joseph was sure that it was out of character for him. There was no denying that Billy was a hard man. Shooting _him_ was proof of that. But he'd also helped him, and made a big difference to Joseph Whatever it was, he shared the other man's conviction that he wasn't going to like it, and he sincerely hoped that it wouldn't put them at odds. He liked the guy.

Billy slipped the Beretta into his waistband and shoved his hands in his pants' pockets. He _so_ didn't want to do this! "Look, Joe," he began somewhat aimlessly, "I used to be in Force Recon. My unit was on a mission in Africa, looking for an enemy base. We were dropped miles away from our intended target, and we lost a lot men out there. Animals, heat-exhaustion, dehydration. . ."

His voice trailed off as the memories of his three comrades, dying one-by-one, came back to haunt him. "We finally stumbled across a village," he continued bleakly. "Just a little fishing village that couldn't possibly support a base for the rebels."

"Not that that mattered," he spat bitterly. "Oh, no. My commander decided that we weren't going home empty-handed. We'd been sent there to eliminate the terrorists, and that's exactly what we were going to do."

"Twenty-three people died that day," Billy said with a shudder, images of those innocent villagers flashing through his mind, so still in a death they hadn't deserved. "I tried to stop them. I went after my commander, yelling for him to stop, that he couldn't do it. He hit me with the butt of his rifle, while two of my comrades continued to fire at the villagers. My commander, the man I would have followed into hell, called me a traitor and pumped two bullets into me."

"Jesus!" Joseph's amber eyes were wide as he stared at the other man in horror. "Billy—"

"It gets worse, Joe," he cut in quickly. If he didn't finish it now, he might not be able to. "They blamed me for it all. Said that I went nuts, that I killed all of those people, then turned my gun on them when they tried to stop me. I was court-martialed and sent to a military institution, while they tried to decide if I was really crazy or not. Apparently I am, just not enough to justify letting me live," he added with astonishing bitterness.

"I was given a choice: The firing squad, or enrollment in the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. I was being taken to my execution when those dogs attacked the MP's jeep. I grabbed a gun off one of the dead guys and made a run for it. And here I am," he added simply.

Billy drew a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, do you want to arrest me, Officer Frost?"

Joseph just stared at him, stunned by all he had heard. "I, uh, no," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "So, you're a fugitive?"

"Officially, I died in the Arklay Mountains. That was Rebecca's idea," he added quickly, "not mine."

"Shit." Joseph shook his head, not quite sure what to say. He'd definitely have to look into Billy's story once he managed to rejoin S.T.A.R.S. "What's your last name, Billy?"

Billy hesitated for only moment. "It's Coen," he said at length, his reluctance obvious. "Lieutenant Billy Coen."

"Okay." Joseph rose to his feet, grimacing down at his bloodstained clothes. "Let's go get cleaned up. Maybe, we can find some clothes in one of the employees' lockers or something."

Billy eyed him suspiciously before nodding his assent. "I'd love to get the blood off me."

"So would I." Joseph shuddered and set the Remington on his shoulder. Once he checked the other man's story out, they would discuss this again. Until then, they were a team. "I thought I heard something upstairs, but it was faint, and non-verbal. Might have been the building settling, but I thought I'd let you know, just in case."

"Thanks." Billy followed him through the hospital, drawing the handgun from his belt-just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Resident Evil, or any of its characters. I'm just a humble fan who was highly disappointed by RE5. Fortunately, RE6 is _more _than making up for it! Thank you, Capcom, for the return of the zombies!

**Synopsis:** I was playing REmake, and started wondering just what it had to be like for the characters between games. I mean, beyond the files and short endings. Not to mention, why they killed off some potentially decent characters so quickly. This is what happens when I get bored. So, here goes nothing. . .

**Author's Note: **This fic is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are all mine. Hopefully there aren't too many =).

* * *

RESIDENT EVIL

Chapter Two

Chris Redfield sat in the back of the S.T.A.R.S. helicopter, one arm around the shoulders of his sleeping compatriot and best friend, Jill Valentine. Rebecca Chambers, Bravo Team's rookie medic, was fast asleep on the bench opposite of them. Beside her sat Barry Burton, Alpha Team's weapon's expert. They were all that was left of S.T.A.R.S., both teams nearly annihilated by the bioweapons Umbrella had secretly created, with the help of Captain Albert Wesker.

He still couldn't believe that Captain Wesker had been working for Umbrella all along. Wesker had led both teams into the Arklay Mountains to obtain combat data for the B.O.W.s. He had killed his own men! Chris thought, still shocked by the realization. He had blackmailed Barry into helping him, using his wife and two children as leverage. He had imprisoned Jill, and shot Rebecca nearly point blank in the chest.

Thank God, the kid had been wearing her Kevlar vest! The shot had stunned her, and she would be bruised for a while, but there hadn't been any permanent physical damage. The psychological scars would take time to heal, but they were all alive. That's what mattered. They had survived untold horrors, monsters that defied the laws of nature, and Wesker had paid for his treachery with his life, a victim of the same bioweapons he had been so thoroughly fascinated with.

The Umbrella Corporation was going down, Chris promised silently. Once they filed their reports, Umbrella would be revealed to the world for the fraud that it was. There would never be another Spenser mansion. Never again, he thought fiercely, even as he mourned for those who had fallen.

They landed on the roof of the Raccoon Police Department, and he traded a grim look with Barry. Their pilot, Brad Vickers, had flown away at the first sign trouble, stranding them in the mountains, leaving them no choice but to flee into the supposedly abandoned mansion to escape the Cerberus' attack. It had been common knowledge that Brad wasn't the bravest man in the world, but Chris hadn't believed him to be a true coward until last night.

With Wesker dead and the team in shambles, it was his job to take control and mete out punishment. While they would all probably be put on leave pending an internal investigation, disciplining Brad would be his responsibility. Chris found that he was almost looking forward to it. At the very least, Chickenheart deserved to get knocked around some!

"Chris?"

He looked down to find Jill blinking at him with sleepy blue-gray eyes. "Hey, there," he greeted, his heart turning over at her drowsy smile.

"Hey," Jill whispered in return. She lifted her head, running her hand through her dark hair. He handed her the blue beret she was almost never without, and she took it with another smile. "Thanks. Barry?"

"Right here, Jill," the man in question said, matching her smile as best he could as guilt washed over him. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't ask," she sighed, her mind going to Joseph Frost, and his devastating death. Her gaze moving to the young girl beside him. "Is she all right?"

Barry's brown eyes gentled as they moved to the sleeping medic, who reminded him of his oldest daughter. "I think she's just exhausted, Jill."

"We all are," Chris said quietly. He released Jill and crouched before the sleeping girl, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Rebecca, wake up. We're back at headquarters."

Rebecca Chambers raised her head, returning his smile shyly as she sat up. "We made it," she murmured, her voice tinged with surprise.

He smiled faintly. "Yeah, we made it, kid."

She rubbed her big green eyes in a childlike gesture and yawned. He stood and looked into the cockpit. Brad glanced over his shoulder, swallowing hard at the anger in his superior's dark blue eyes. Chris nodded at him—once—and his brown eyes widened. He was so going to get his ass kicked!

Chris jumped out of the chopper and turned to help Jill. She smiled tiredly and actually let him help, instead of the usual frown as she insisted that she could do it herself. Rebecca smiled sweetly as he helped her, and he had a feeling that she was simply a nice girl. Barry came next, silent as he tucked a picture of his family into his tactical vest and leapt to the tarmac. Brad hovered at the nose of the helicopter, obviously afraid to come any closer.

He sighed heavily and waved the other man forward. "I'm too tired to kick your ass right now, Brad."

The pilot nodded and attempted a smile as he cautiously approached them. "Chris, I'm sorry—"

"Not now, Brad," he cut in grimly. "Let's just go type up our reports, so we can all get some sleep."

"Amen," Jill muttered at his side, her misty eyes dark with the horror they all shared, and the loss of the man she loved.

Chris set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. She blinked back tears and covered his hand with hers briefly before heading for the R.P.D.'s rooftop entrance. He followed her with a heavy heart, wishing that he could have found a way to save Joseph. His death had devastated Jill to the point that she had gone into shock after seeing him mauled. If he himself hadn't shot the dog leaping for her and dragged her to her feet, she would have joined her lover in death—or worse.

That would have finished him, Chris acknowledged silently. He had loved Jill since meeting her during an Army/Air Force football game. They had argued heatedly over the game, and become friends in the process. He'd kept his feelings a secret all of these years, well aware that she didn't see him in the same light. He valued her friendship too much to risk losing her.

It had been hard when she'd started dating Joseph, but he had dealt with it. Joe had become his friend, too, and it had made him happy to see _Jill_ so happy. As hard as it had been to see her with another man, he had been glad that she'd picked Joe. He still was.

The remnants of the Special Tactics And Rescue Service made their way through the fancy precinct, which had once been a museum, ignoring the wide-eyed looks they received. Chris was well aware of how they must look; they were covered in blood and God knew what else. One or two of the regular cops threw out questions, but they were disregarded. Each member of S.T.A.R.S. was locked into their own world, trying to deal with the insanity they had each been a part of for the last twenty-four hours.

God, what he wouldn't give to go back, and stop all of this from happening, Chris thought with a shudder. His chest was tight with emotion as he remembered those who had fallen, until he had to blink back tears of his own. These people had been more than mere teammates. They had been his friends.

They entered the deserted S.T.A.R.S. office and came to a halt, each surprised to find it exactly as they had left it. Chris shook his head and took a seat at his desk, running a hand through his brown hair in an agitated gesture. Wesker's desk sat at the head of the room, and he glared at it hotly, hating what it now represented.

"Chris." He felt a hand on his shoulder and shivered involuntarily. He looked up and saw Jill gazing down at him, her gray-blue eyes somber as they met and held his. He covered her hand with his own, squeezing gently before releasing her. "I'm okay, Jill."

One corner of her mobile lips quirked upwards in a half-smile. "Bullshit," she said too softly to be overheard.

He swallowed an unwilling laugh. He couldn't help it. Jill Valentine just had that effect on him. "You know me too well," he said ruefully.

"Yes, I do." Jill perched herself on the edge of his desk, her gaze searching his undeniably handsome features. Chris was a protector by nature. He believed that he had to be strong, and not show his feelings. And right now, she knew that he was feeling responsible for what had happened in the Arklay Mountains, no matter how well he hid it.

"It wasn't your fault," she told him, her usually husky voice thick with grief. "Wesker did this to us, not you."

He sighed and sat back in his chair, tipping his head back to maintain eye contact. "I know, it's just. . ." his voice trailed off as he sought the right words. "I should have been able to do something, Jill. Anything, you know?"

She nodded, knowing the feeling all too well. "I feel the same way, Chris. I'd give anything to have Joseph and the others back. But there isn't anything we could have done to save them."

"I know that, too," he acknowledged in a quiet voice. "It doesn't help much."

"No, it doesn't." Jill looked own for a moment, reliving the moment when she realized that Joseph was dead, and that she was going to die with him. "Thank you for saving me, Chris."

He shook his head immediately, as she'd known he would. "Never thank me for that, Jill. You're my comrade, and my best friend. I couldn't _not_ try to save you," he added fiercely.

She slid off the desk and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Accept my appreciation, Redfield—now."

Chris' hands fisted on the chair arms at the innocent, platonic touch. "Appreciation accepted," he said, managing to keep his voice even as he added, "Get to that report, Valentine. I want to go home some time today."

"Yes, sir," she drawled with playful sarcasm. "Anything else, sir?"

The thoughts that flashed through his mind would have gotten him slapped, at the very least. "Get to work, Jill. And keep an eye on Rebecca, okay?"

Jill's gaze went to the girl in question, who was sitting quietly at her desk, her motionless hands poised over her computer keyboard. "I will," she promised, realizing that the young woman probably reminded him of his younger sister, Claire. "You keep an eye on Barry, as well."

They both glanced at Brad, who was sitting at the communications panel, working diligently on a laptop. "Watch him too," Chris murmured harshly.

"I will, Chris."

She returned to her own desk, which was located behind his own, and he listened as she settled in and powered up her computer. He didn't have to look behind him to picture her desk, neat and tidy, everything in its place. Unlike his, his thought with a rueful glance across its scattered surface. He'd never been organized, and he probably never would be. Not that he didn't know where everything was. He did. It just took a little time to find what he needed.

Chris released a harsh breath and fought the urge to close his eyes and simply sleep. He was so damned tired! The last thing he wanted was to write a dispassionate report about something that he felt all too passionately about. But if they didn't do this now, while the horror was still fresh in their minds, they might forget something critical. They couldn't let that happen. The Umbrella Corporation had to pay for what they had done. It was that simple.

He glanced at Barry, whose weathered features were drawn. The older man was typing away, slowly but diligently, the look in his dark eyes bleak. The two of them had talked a little on the chopper, while the girls slept. The former SWAT officer had been honest about his role in all of this, and he fully expected to lose his job, as well as their friendship, over it. As angry as Chris had been initially, he understood the other man's dilemma. His wife and kids had been threatened. What else could he have done, except go along with Wesker's plans?

He'd met Barry in '95, right after his dishonorable discharged from the Air Force. He'd been lost, unable to find a job, unsure of how he was going to put his sister Claire through college, let alone keep a roof over their heads. Barry had befriended him, encouraged him to quit drinking, and helped him by introducing him to Albert Wesker, a former teammate.

He had become a regular in the Burton household, spoiled by Barry's wife, Kathy, while becoming an honorary uncle to his two beautiful daughters. For the first time since their parents' deaths two years before, he and Claire had had a real home, with people who cared about them. He couldn't blame the other man for protecting his family. He just wished that Barry had come to _him_ for help. All of Alpha Team would have helped him, especially Jill, who had been drug into their little family almost against her will.

He grinned briefly at the thought. Jill had taken a leave of absence from Delta Force after hearing about his court-martial and come looking for him. She'd shown up three weeks after he and Claire had moved in with the Burtons, and she had been immediately adopted by them. An only child, she had always been somewhat reserved with others. That had changed the moment she had stepped into the Burton household. She'd suddenly inherited a large family, and she hadn't known how to deal with it.

They had both joined S.T.A.R.S. at the same time, he as pointman for Alpha Team, and Jill as Rear Security and B&A Specialist. Though they hadn't actually worked together before, they found that they made a great team. She was able to keep a level head in situations that sparked his temper, and he kept her from turning into the loner she had once been with his friendship. They were polar opposites, each keeping the other balanced, and yet she didn't see it. And probably never would, he thought morosely.

He glanced at the phone and flirted with the idea of calling his sister, but quickly discarded it. The last thing he wanted to do was worry his baby sister, who had enough on her plate just getting through school. Claire was one of the smartest people he'd ever known, but she was also very impulsive. If she knew just what had happened to him, she'd insist on leaving school and driving into Raccoon to be with him. And as much as he missed her right now, he had no intention of involving her in this.

He only hoped that Chief Irons quickly moved on this. They might have destroyed the Spenser Mansion, and the lab beneath it, but there was no way to be sure that the T-virus infection had been completely wiped out. He wanted to go back to the Arklay Mountains, and assure himself that there were no more mutated Cerberus', or undead zombies lingering in the forest.

And he wanted to bring back the bodies of their fallen S.T.A.R.S. comrades. He couldn't bear the thought of Kevin or Joseph just lying out there, being picked apart by scavengers, or worse—becoming flesh-eating zombies themselves. No, he wanted to bring them back and give their friends and families a chance to mourn them properly.

Chris forced himself to begin typing, reliving the horror of the night as he did so. Finding Bravo Team's chopper wrecked in the Arklay Mountains, Kevin Dooley dead in the pilot's seat. The Cerberus' that had attacked and killed Joseph Frost, and drove the remaining Alpha Team members into the abandoned mansion. Encountering his first zombie, crouched over the still-twitching body of Kenneth Sullivan, Bravo Team's pointman. Losing touch with the others after searching the west wing, and eventually coming across Rebecca, who had done her best to help him during the long hours trapped inside the Spenser mansion.

Fighting the giant snake designated YAWN twice, encountering the enhanced zombie known as a Crimson Head in the crypt behind the house. Losing Richard Aiken, yet another member of Bravo Team, to the F1-Neptune shark in the aqua ring below the guardhouse. He had also found Enrico Marini in the underground tunnels, wounded but still alive, until a shot from an unseen enemy had finished him. And Forest. . .

Chris shuddered violently and hung his head for a moment. He'd found his old friend, Bravo Team's Omni-man, on the east balcony. His body had been picked nearly clean by the mutated crows that had nested nearby. Chris had gone to the end of the balcony, wondering just how he was going to break the news to Jill, when a hiss at his back had brought him whirling around.

What was left of Forest had been a zombie, yet another mutated Crimson Head. Faster and more vicious than the regular reanimated corpses, it had nearly taken his head off before he'd managed to pump two shotgun rounds into it. As he'd stood over the headless body of the man he'd known for almost as many years as he had Jill, he'd made himself a promise. Right then and there, he'd swore to himself that Umbrella would pay for what they had done.

And they would, he told himself firmly. No matter what he had to do, or who he had to bring down, Umbrella Inc. was finished. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Rebecca Chambers stared blankly at the monitor before, trying desperately to block out the bizarre images that continually splintered her concentration as she typed her report. Her mind kept flashing back to Edward, and Richard, and all the people that had died because of Albert Wesker and Umbrella. She knew that she would _never _ forget what had happened, either last night or the night before. But she wished she could find a way keep her mind from dwelling on it, and the unspeakable horror of it all.

It hadn't been all bad, though. She smiled faintly as she thought of Billy Coen, the fugitive that Enrico had ordered her to shoot on sight. She was glad she hadn't! Billy had turned out to be a good partner, willing to do whatever it took keep them both alive. He had saved her life more than once, something that she hadn't expected from a man convicted of multiple murders.

She also didn't believe that he was guilty. He hadn't given her much, but she'd watched him in the Vacant Factory, when they had found the skeletons of those Umbrella had deemed failed experiments. He'd had a flashback from the mission in Africa that had earned him his death-sentence, and the sheer horror she had seen dawning in his midnight blue eyes had been enough to convince her of his innocence.

Rebecca touched the dogtags hidden under her shirt reverently. As far as she was concerned, condemned murderer Lieutenant Billy Coen had died in the Arklay Mountains, and that was the way it was going to remain. She knew the odds were good that she would never see him again, or even know whether he lived or died, but she didn't care. Billy was a good man, an _innocent_ man, and he didn't deserve to die because of what his commanding officer had done.

She was going to miss him, though. He had become incredibly important to her in the short time they'd spent together, and she believed that he felt the same. Walking away from him had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done, but it had been the right thing to do.

Rebecca typed her report as quickly as she could, for once not worrying about spelling errors or punctuation. She wanted this done and over with, so she could figure out how to go on with her life, even though it had been changed so drastically. How did one sleep at night, knowing that the monsters under the bed were real!

She didn't know, and it scared her. She glanced around the room and saw that the others looked equally grim. She suspected that she wasn't the only one who would have trouble sleeping tonight.

She finished the statement and printed it, backing it up on disk. She pulled the files she had found on the Ecliptic Train and the Arkham Mansion out of her supply pack and perused them. She put most of them with the report, keeping the file she'd found on Billy near the wrecked jeep for herself. It might be all she ever had of him, and her superiors didn't really need it.

She pulled her purse out of a desk drawer and put the folded papers inside. She stood and took her official S.T.A.R.S. statement to Chris, who was now team leader by default. He looked surprised as he accepted it, and she shrugged as casually as she could.

"I didn't check the spelling, but it's all there," she informed him quietly. "I'd like permission to leave now, sir."

Chris skimmed over the report, his cobalt eyes widening slightly as he realized just all that this eighteen-year-old rookie had gone through. "I'm impressed," he told her sincerely, watching as she literally swayed on her feet with exhaustion. "Go home, Rebecca. Get some rest. Come in late tomorrow, if you need to."

Rebecca hesitated before nodding slowly. She didn't how much she'd be able to sleep. "I'll think about it, sir. Thank you," she added politely.

"It was Chris in the mansion," he reminded her. She blushed a little, and he managed a smile. "My name is Chris. Use it," he ordered with mock sternness.

"Yes, sir!" She smiled involuntarily. "I mean, Chris."

He watched her snap a proper salute and chuckled lightly. "Here," he said, scrawling his name and number on a piece of paper. "Call me if you need anything, Rebecca, no matter how trivial. Alright?"

Rebecca accepted the little piece of paper with an emphatic nod. "I will." She turned towards the door and paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Thank you, Chris."

Chris smiled at the brave young girl gently. "You're welcome, Rebecca."

He waited until the door had closed behind her to read her report more thoroughly. Good God, he thought with astonishment, it was a wonder she had survived at all! She had been a rookie with no real combat experience. By all rights, Rebecca Chambers should have died in the Arklay Mountains. It was a miracle that she had not.

"Jill," he called over his shoulder, "look at this!"

Jill rounded her desk and took the blue folder from his hands. Her own misty eyes widened as she began to read, and was soon completely absorbed in the detailed, if misspelled, account of the young medic's first mission as a member of S.T.A.R.S.. "My God, Chris," she murmured, closing the folder and setting it down. "How did she survive all of that?"

"I don't know, Jill." Chris gave the folder to Barry, who read it with an impressed whistle. "What do you think, Barry?"

"She's good," the older man said abruptly. "I hope she doesn't decide to quit after all of that."

"Yeah, me too," he sighed. He glanced at his report, which was only half done, with another sigh. "Damn, I'm going to be here all night at this rate. What about you two?"

"I'm done," Barry said with a shrug, avoiding his gaze. "I included everything, Chris. I just wanted you to know before I left."

"Left?" He traded an alarm glance with Jill, who immediately stepped forward. "You don't have to leave, Barry. We understand why you—"

"I know, Jill," he interrupted wearily, "but I have to get Kathy and the kids out of the city. If Wesker really was one of Umbrella's top operatives, then they're not going to be happy with us for taking him out. I'm not taking any more chances with my family's safety," he added fiercely.

Chris nodded slowly. "Are you coming back?" he asked at length.

"Of course," Barry answered with a frown. "I'm still a member of Alpha Team, right?"

"Always." Chris stood and shook his hand firmly. "Take care of your family, and come back to us. We'll take down Umbrella together."

"Together," Jill echoed huskily, giving him a warm hug. She stepped back with a misty smile. "We'll miss you, Barry."

"I'll miss you too, Jilly." The older man's voice was gruff as he attempted a smile and headed for the door. "You two be careful, okay? Umbrella's not going to forget this."

"We will, Barry." Chris stepped closer to Jill in an unconsciously protective gesture, and Barry's smile became genuine. Some things would never change, he thought as he saluted them and left the room.

The door closed behind him, and Chris exhaled harshly. Jill squeezed his arm reassuringly before going back to her desk. Neither spoke as they worked in a companionable silence. He knew that Jill was holding on to her composure by sheer will. She had never dealt with grief well. She would keep it all inside until if finally overwhelmed her. He only hoped that she would come to him when it did. He didn't want her to go through this devastating loss alone.

He looked up a short while later to find Brad standing nervously beside his desk. "What's up?" he asked, doing his best to hide his fury.

"I'm done with my report," Brad told him quickly. "I'd like to go home, now."

Navy blue eyes narrowed on his, but his voice was even as he said, "Yeah, go ahead, Brad. We'll see you tomorrow at 06:00 sharp."

"Six, it is." Brad glanced over at Jill, opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it. After all, Joe had died last night, even if it _had_ been before he'd taken off. He headed for the door quickly, nearly smacking himself with it in his haste to escape.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Jill merely shook her head in disgust. "Are you going to kick his ass?" she asked calmly.

"Oh, yeah," Chris answered with anticipation, "you know it!"

She allowed herself a small smile. "Good," was all she said, going back to her work.

It took two more hours, but he finally got it done. Chris shut his computer down and stretched, muscles popping as he rose to his feet. Jill was sitting back in her chair, her legs propped up on her desk, a framed picture in her hands. She smiled as he approached, tilting her head back to meet his gaze.

"You're finally done?" she asked mildly.

He grunted and positioned himself at her side. His midnight eyes were drawn to the photograph, and the hard-faced man he'd never met. "He'd be proud of you, Jill."

She smiled faintly. "I'd like to think so," she murmured, leaning forward to set the picture down. "I wish you could have met him, Chris. He was a lot like you."

"So, you keep saying," Chris muttered, not sure he liked being compared to her father.

Jill shook her head at his disgruntled expression, trying her best not to laugh aloud. "You're too easy, Chris." She rose to her feet and slid her arm through his. "Come on, Redfield. Let me buy you a cup of coffee."

As exhausted as he undoubtedly was, his blood-pressure soared at the husky invitation. "Lead the way," he told her, holding the door for her. "I'll follow you anywhere, Valentine."

"Ah, the perfect man," she quipped with a dramatic sigh.

"You know it." Chris couldn't keep the grin from his face as they made their way through the R.P.D.. Just being around Jill had this effect on him, made him happier, no matter how bad the circumstances.

Once again, they received strange looks as they made their way through the building. And again, they ignored them. The joked and bantered like the old friends that they were, all the way to the underground parking lot. He walked Jill to her car, a sensible little blue Honda. She opened the door and hesitated before turning to face him.

"I really don't want to be around people right now," she admitted in a low voice. "Would you mind if we just did this at my place?"

"Of course not," he answered, ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart. "Do you want me to bring anything?"

Jill smiled and shook her head negatively. "Just yourself." She started to turn away and paused. "Take the time to shower, though. I'm going to."

He nodded, a wry smile shaping his lips. "Half an hour, Valentine."

"Half an hour," she agreed, her smile faint as she climbed into the car and closed the door.

Chris watched as she backed up out the space and waved before driving out of the garage. He walked to his own truck and climbed behind the wheel, starting the engine with a flick of his wrist. As tired as he was, he wanted nothing more than to spend this day with Jill. He didn't want to be alone, either.

* * *

Jill let herself into her apartment with a choked sigh. She put her keys on the hook beside the door and went straight to her bedroom. She put her badge and gun away in the nightstand drawer, her waist-pack in the cabinet below, doing her best to ignore the picture of the smiling couple sitting beside the lamp. She quickly stripped off her bloodstained uniform and threw it in the washing machine. She started it and went into the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the rack and throwing it over the shower bar. She turned on the water, adjusting the temperature, before turning on the shower.

She stepped under the hot spray just the tears began to fall. She hung her head as harsh sobs tore from her, burying her face in her hands as her entire body shook. She felt as though her heart had been ripped out of her body, and she didn't how she was going to recover from this.

Joe was dead.

She sobbed harder at the thought, her treacherous mind replaying his death in a macabre loop. She could still hear his cries, accompanied by the growls of the Cerberus', and the retort of his Remington. He had been overwhelmed so quickly, she thought with anguish. In the five or six seconds it had taken them to reach him, his life had ended. There hadn't been anything that they could have done to save him. All they could do was run for their lives, and pray that at least some of them would make it.

They had flown into the Arklay Mountains blind, simply because their commander had ordered it. He had known all along what lay in store for them, and he had ordered them there with the darkest of intentions. Wesker had used S.T.A.R.S. with all of their special training, so that he could acquire combat data for the bioweapons that he had helped Umbrella create.

Fury rushed through her, mingling with the heartache, at the thought of Albert Wesker. The bastard had tried killed them all, and shown not one bit of remorse! He had used Barry's family to force him into the role of traitor. Probably so he wouldn't feel alone, she thought nastily.

Oh God, Joe, what am I going to do? she cried silently. She reached blindly for the soap, knowing that Chris would be here soon enough. He might be late for work every day, but he was never late when meeting her. He considered her family, and he did his best never to let his family down. It was one of the things she liked most about him. So had Joe.

Fresh tears fell as she began to clean the blood off of her hands. God, Joseph had been the only one of her boyfriends Chris had ever liked. He'd even begun teasing her about Joe popping the question, which had scared the hell out of her. She hadn't believed that she was ready to take such big step as marriage. Now, she would willingly give up her freedom if it meant having Joe's arms around her once again.

She washed her hair and scrubbed her face, hoping to hide the signs of her tears. Chris always went a little nuts when he discovered she'd been crying. All that testosterone-driven overprotectiveness came to the fore whenever he thought that she or his sister had been hurt. It didn't seem to matter to him that they were both fiercely independent women with minds of their own. In his mind, it was his job—his _duty_—to protect them.

She shut the water off and climbed out of the tub. She dried off and went into the bedroom, pulling clothes out of her dresser randomly. She dressed and padded into the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on to boil. She heard footsteps on the landing outside and smiled to herself. Chris was right on time, as always.

Jill opened the door before he could knock, her smile widening at his look of surprise. "Come on in," she said, stepping back as he brushed past her. She closed the door and followed him in, watching fondly as he immediately dropped to the sofa and grabbed the remote off the coffee table.

Typical, she thought without rancor. She sat beside him, curling her legs under her as she faced him. The television flickered to life, the volume muted, as his gaze swung to hers. His dark blue were intent as they studied her, his lips tightening as he observed the traces of her tears. She sighed, knowing that she shouldn't have tried to fool him. Chris Redfield knew her much too well.

"I'm okay," she told him, releasing another sigh at his skeptical look. "Really, Chris. I'm dealing. Okay?"

Chris nodded slowly, hating that she had waited until she was alone to cry. "You're not alone in this," he reminded her, his voice as gentle as he could make it. "Call me next time, alright?"

"I will." Jill scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder. His arm encircled her shoulders in the automatic gesture that had always made her feel so safe. "Did you call Claire while you were home?"

"No," he answered, setting his feet up on the coffee table. "I don't want anything interfering with school. If she knew, she'd spend the next month camped out on my couch, hovering over me like a mother-hen, and bossing me around until I wanted to strangle her."

Jill laughed a little at the humorous, fondly-spoken description of Claire Redfield. "You know that she loves you, Chris."

"And I love her, but I don't want her involved in this," he stated flatly. "I don't want her to be a target for Umbrella."

"I understand completely," she assured him, shifting slightly to set her legs alongside his. "I won't say anything if she calls."

"Thank you," he said with gratitude.

"You're welcome," she returned quietly.

She closed her eyes and fell silent, the muted drone of the television competing with the percolating coffee in the quiet. She felt the lightest of touches on the top of her head and smiled to herself. Chris might not believe in allowing others to see his feelings, but they always came out, despite his best attempts to control them. She had seen him do this very same thing with Claire, kissing the top of her head when he thought she wasn't looking. His sister always knew, though, just as Jill herself did. Neither would ever call him on it, but it warmed their hearts to know how much he cared.

Chris swallowed hard as Jill's voluptuous, well-toned body shifted against him. He lowered his head to hers cautiously, closing his eyes as he brushed his lips over the crown of her head. He inhaled the scent that was uniquely Jill's and suppressed a shiver. He reigned in his yearnings and reminded himself of the place Jill had granted him in her life. He was her best friend, the one person she could always count on, come hell or high water. If that ever changed, it would be _her_ decision.

Not that it would, he thought with regret. He lacked the one physical attribute that was guaranteed to attract Jill Valentine—brown eyes. Light brown, dark brown, yellow-brown, it didn't matter. He had never seen her with a blue-eyed man, and he probably never would. She was a very particular woman, and she made no apologies for it.

And that was why she dated so rarely, he knew. She was intensely independent, fully capable of tackling any situation on her own. If one of her dates got out of line, he wouldn't find out until _after_ she had already put the man in his place. Which didn't leave much room for him, he thought with a small smile. Claire might let him beat up her boyfriends on the rare occasion, but Jill never would. As she so often pointed out, she could take care of herself.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the small apartment quickly, and his stomach gurgled in response. Jill stirred against him, raising her head, her smile contagious. "I guess, I'd better get you that cup of coffee I lured you here with," she said teasingly.

"No, I've got it," he told her, stilling her when she would have risen. "Just sit back and relax. Today, consider me your devoted servant."

She moved her legs so he could pass, watching him as he moved through her personal space. He was such a big man, she mused absently, yet he moved with a quick grace that belied his size. And while he did have an infamous temper, he wasn't a cruel man. Quite the opposite, in fact. Chris Redfield was one of the nicest people she had ever known, for all that he was a typical alpha male.

He returned a few minutes later, a steaming mug in each big hand. She took the one with the Army logo, grinning as she observed the large cat that was etched around the length of the only other clean coffee cup in the house. He saw her smile and returned it ruefully, shrugging his broad shoulders in an embarrassed gesture. She loved that he was confident enough to use such an obviously feminine object with a minimum amount of self-consciousness.

"You could've given that to me," she said, gesturing towards the mug.

"Nah," Chris said with a shake of his head. "The Army mug is _you_, Jill. I can live with the cat."

"You hate cats," she pointed out humorously.

_But I __**love**__ you,_ he thought instantly. He shrugged again, flashing a crooked smile, as he sat beside her. "With all of the strays Claire's brought home over years, I've learned to live with them."

Jill laughed at that. "At least, she's taking them to her own apartment now, instead of yours."

"Definitely a bright side," he agreed dryly. He watched with greedy eyes as she took a sip of the hot liquid, her eyes closing with pleasure. "It's good?"

"God, yes!" she exclaimed with an appreciative sigh. "You always make it just the way I like it, Chris."

"Well, I have had special training, you know," Chris said jokingly. "I was taught to observe the little things."

"And you do a damn fine job." She tilted her head to one side, scowling as her hair immediately slid into her face. "Damn it," she muttered, using her free hand to rake it back from her face. "There, that's better."

Chris looked away for a moment, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to tunnel his hands in that thick brown hair and kiss her senseless. Not only would he risk seriously bodily harm by doing so, but he would alienate his best friend in the process. But it was hard to hold himself back, especially after nearly losing her so many times in the last twelve hours.

He settled for a portion of his true feelings, the only part he knew she would accept. "When I returned to the hall, and found you and Wesker gone, I nearly lost it," he told her somberly. "I'm glad he didn't kill you, Jill. I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you, too."

Jill's eyes flew to his profile, her expression softening at the starkness etched into his. "It's alright," she told him in a murmur. "I'm right here."

He slanted her a brief smile, and her heart went out to him. Chris had been twenty when his parents had been killed by a careless driver in a big-rig. He had been devastated, and left alone to raise his sister, who had only been fifteen at the time. His fear of loss was as deep as hers, even if their reasons were different.

She scooted closer and placed her free hand on his back. "Are you sure you shouldn't call Claire?" she asked him quietly. "You might feel better if you talked to her."

"Not until I've pulled myself together," he said, his voice low.

She nodded, rubbing his back in a comforting gesture. "Just don't wait too long," she advised. "She'll come looking for you if you don't call her like you normally do."

"Yeah, I know." Chris sent her a sidelong glance, wishing like hell that she would stop touching him, while enjoying it all too much. If she knew just how the simplest touch affected him, she would avoid any contact with him at all! "I'll call her tomorrow, after I've had a chance to process. . .everything. Jill, about Joe. . ."

Her expression dimmed, and he cursed inwardly. "Jill, I'm sorry," he told her awkwardly. "I didn't mean to—"

"I know you didn't." Jill pulled her hand back and concentrated on her coffee, the memory of Joseph Frost hovering in the air between them. "They're gone, Chris. We can't bring them back. Not any of them."

He nodded once. "I wish I could've saved him, Jill."

"I know that, too," she said in a murmur. The smile she flashed him really wasn't a smile at all. "Have I thanked you for treating him so well?"

Chris flushed and looked away. "I liked him, Jill. He was good for you," he added simply.

"He liked you, too." Her expression became distant, and he knew that she was reliving their too-short courtship. "You know, he told me once that I was lucky to have a friend like you. Told me never to take you for granted."

"Yeah?" At her nod, he smiled, the gesture bittersweet. Joseph had known from the beginning how he felt about Jill, and hadn't been the least bit threatened by the knowledge. "That sounds like Joe. He was a nice guy."

"Yes, he was." Jill blinked back tears and nudged his knee with her own. "Drink up, Redfield. I don't want you going into caffeine withdrawal around me."

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, smiling as he dutifully took a sip. "Do you want me to hang around today? I can sleep on the couch," he added hastily.

Jill hesitated before inclining her head. "That would be nice. Thanks, Chris."

"Sure thing." He settled back on the sofa, happy that he would be spending the day with her, even if they'd both be asleep, and in different rooms. At least, they would be together.

* * *

Joseph stared at the radio in his hand, wishing like hell that it worked. But like nearly everything else in this eerie, deserted place, it was broken beyond repair. The phones were out, as was the emergency radio they'd found in the nurses' lounge. At least, the power was still working!

He and Billy had found the employee's locker room stocked full of clothes and other supplies, including several pairs of sunglasses. The showers hadn't worked—of course—but they had used the sinks to clean up in. They had raided the vending machines, breaking them open to take what they needed, and then laid down to sleep.

He had awakened after only four hours, feeling amazingly refreshed. He glanced to the only other bed in the small room, where Billy was currently sleeping. The other man was out cold, only the occasional twitch marring his deep slumber. Joseph shook his head as he crept out of the room, going back to the computer he had found in the main lobby. From here, he could use his S.T.A.R.S. clearance to check up on Billy's story, and ascertain the truth on his own.

A part of him felt guilty, even as he typed in his clearance code. He entered Billy's name and rank, and was appalled by what he found. While the other man had been partially truthful about the events that led to his court-martial, he had omitted horrifying details. _Important_ details. If pictures were worth a thousand words, the ones he clicked on certainly worth Billy's Coen's freedom—as well as his life.

According to the official Marine report on the African incident, Billy had only been shot by his commander _after_ beating him nearly to death. And only after Billy's sub-machine gun had run dry! He read the accounts of the other two soldiers that had survived the mission, his stomach twisting with disgust. Although both reports were similar, there were enough differences to show that the accounts were genuine. Had Billy's comrades lied, the reports would have mirrored one another's exactly. Unfortunately for Billy Coen, they did not.

"Now what?" Joseph asked himself as betrayal burned through him. He brought up Billy's psych report, his hands clenching angrily as he read it. The man he was traveling with was a sociopath, a man who killed with no remorse, completely unhindered by conscience. He was a merciless killing machine who cared for nothing more than fulfilling his own twisted needs and desires.

No wonder the other man had accepted him so readily! Joseph thought furiously. He'd probably planned on killing him all along, once they reached safety. He glanced around the dusty hospital lobby, and wondered if Billy would consider this a safe place. He shuddered and quickly rose to his feet, drawing the Remington as he did so. If Billy tried to take him out, he'd be in for one hellova surprise!

He had nearly made it back to the second floor, where he and Billy had found a room with slightly larger beds, when a man's voice came to him. He stopped dead in his tracks, his head cocked to one side, and listened. The voice was quickly joined by others, one a woman's, too far away on the first floor to for him to make out the words. Joseph's yellowish eyes widened realized that they were no longer alone in the hospital. He thought of the broken window on main door and winced. Whoever was here had to know that someone had broken in, and they wouldn't be pleased.

And if they got a look at his eyes, they were likely to panic and run. He sighed despondently and slipped the darkest pair of sunglasses they'd found onto his face. It was sad to think that the only person likely to ever accept him like this was a mass-murderer. He was beginning to wish that he _had_ died in the Arklay Mountains.

He stole silently through the hall, slowing as he neared the stairs. The voices were louder now, and he tensed as a small group of people appeared at the bottom of the stairs. There were two men and two women, all dressed in hiking gear, sporting well-worn backpacks. A third man joined them, a little older, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He was commiserating with the hikers' problems, even as he led them through a door marked, "Basement".

Joseph's eyes flashed as the door closed behind them. Something wasn't right here, he thought nervously. The hospital had been completely deserted, nothing here except those different colored herbs, some vines that they'd seen in some of the rooms in this area, and a large plant in that same basement. The plant hadn't reacted to them at all, so they'd quickly closed the basement door and left it alone. Now, this man was leading these strangers through the hospital as though intimately familiar with it, to the very place that had made them both so nervous. The whole scenario just felt wrong.

He crept down the stairs to follow them, intent on investigating, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered. He paused halfway down the stairs, flattening himself against the wall, and watched with dismay as Billy crept into view. His navy eyes were locked on the basement door, his fine features harder than Joseph had ever seen them. He had a sickening feeling that he was finally seeing the sociopathic side of Billy Coen.

He treaded lightly down the stairs, praying that he was wrong, and that he wouldn't be forced to kill the other man today.

* * *

Billy reached farther into the vending machine, twisting his upper body as he felt his fingertips brush the edge of the candy bar's wrapper. It slipped away, and he cursed silently as he readjusted his position and tried again. A faint sound drifted in through an open window, soon followed by more, and he realized that he was hearing voices—_human _voices_. _

Excitement and apprehension vied for possession of his heart as he stood and carefully positioned himself to one side of the window. He leaned forward cautiously, his deep blue eyes sweeping the courtyard below, and carefully peeked outside. Five people were approaching the hospital, talking in rather loud voices about how grateful they were someone had found them. Lost hikers, he thought grimly, remembering what Rebecca had said about all of the people that had gone missing or been killed in the Arklay Mountains. Shit, but he hoped he was wrong about this!

The guy with them was responding sympathetically, but his tone was blatantly false. Call him paranoid, but the guy didn't sound. . .well, mentally sound. And Billy would know. He'd been locked up with enough psychos in that stupid Marine crazy house to tell the difference. And this guy definitely wasn't kosher.

He noticed that the orange flowers that had nearly taken his life weren't opening. He watched one move, but it subsided as soon as the crazy guy got close to it, almost as though they were remaining dormant on purpose. And as weird as that seemed, Billy had seen too much in the last few days to merely pass it off as imagination.

He took the Beretta out of his waistband, hoping like hell he wouldn't need it. He waited until they had passed the room to peek into the hall. The man in the ugly flannel shirt was gesturing for them to take a left at the end of the hall, explaining that the food stores were kept in the basement. Billy knew that was bullshit, because all he and Joe had seen there was a plant the size of a Proto-Tyrant. Unlike the deadly flowers outside of the hospital, this thing hadn't moved at all. In fact, it had looked half-dead, it's drooping leaves a sickly shade of brown instead of a healthy green.

The group rounded the corner, and he slipped into the hall. He followed as quietly as he could in cowboy boots, the .9 millimeter held out before him. He waited until he could no longer hear them to chamber the Beretta, wincing as the sound echoed through the hall. Hopefully, they hadn't heard it, or he'd be in a world of hurt. If he was wrong, and this guy had a way to call the cops, he'd be screwed.

Damn it, he thought uneasily, where the hell was Joe? When he'd awakened to find the super-cop gone, he hadn't thought much of it. If Joe hadn't turned on him after hearing his tale, then he was wasn't going to. But Billy was starting to get worried. What if this guy had gotten the drop on Joe and taken him out while Billy had slept? Sure, the S.T.A.R.S. member had a seemingly endless list of superhuman abilities, but he hadn't quite figured out how to use them yet. Otherwise, that zombie in the woods wouldn't have been able to sneak up on him.

Billy swore soundlessly and rounded the corner cautiously. He kept the handgun held out before him, his eyes narrowed in concentration, as he made his way to the basement. Whoever the guy in the flannel was, he was a dead man if he'd hurt Joseph Frost.

He paused outside the basement door, listening for any sign of movement. He couldn't hear much, and again, he wished that Joe were with him. That enhanced sense of hearing would come in handy right about now! he thought with a touch of nervousness. But he had managed to keep himself alive in the Arklay Mountains for almost day by himself. He didn't necessarily need back-up. It was just nice to have.

He grasped the door handle, turned it, and slipped through the door. He eased it closed behind him, hearing the voices up ahead and to the right. Just where the plant had been, he realized with a sinking feeling. The door to the room was slammed closed, the sound echoing through the basement. He heard a quartet of screams, all too quickly reduced by one, and took off running. Damn it, he hated being right sometimes!

He heard a sickening crack just as he made it to the door, the sound reminding him of breaking bones. "Shit!" he exclaimed, lifting his foot and kicking the door open.

The scene that greeted his eyes was a gruesome one. Three of the four hikers were dead, their bloodied bodies sprawled unnaturally on the cold cement floor. The fourth died even as Billy watched, an axe embedded in his skull. The man in the flannel turned to him, a slow smile spreading across his face. He pulled the axe loose with a sickeningly wet sound, and Billy began to fire.

The man reacted like a zombie, his body flinching with each bullet. Yet he kept coming, only fractionally slowed by the gunfire. Billy took careful aim and planted one right between the eyes. The man stopped dead in his tracks, blinking as though confused, before walking forward once more. Billy backed away, his midnight eyes widening dramatically, as the big plant behind the man came to life.

"Dorothy is awake," the man whispered madly, his smile only widening, and Billy was very much afraid that he knew what had happened to Joseph.

Its vine-like tentacles began to whip at the floor, as though searching for something. One landed on one of the bodies, and dragged the corpse to it. It's large orange center opened, much like the plants outside. Instead of releasing a poison mist, the plant shoved the corpse into its opening, obviously devouring it.

"Billy!"

Billy found himself in the hallway, looking down the barrel of Joe's shotgun. "Joe!" he yelled, elated to see that the other man was still alive. He continued to back away, not quite as worried as he'd been before "That fucking plant is alive, and this guy's some sort of super-zombie! We need to get out of here now!"

Joseph frowned and immediately ran to the doorway. The man in the flannel shirt was grinning insanely, dragging a bloodied axe behind him, a multitude of bullet holes dotting his shirt. The one that worried Joseph was the entrance wound in the center of the man's forehead. It was healing even as he watched, and Joseph realized just how he must have looked to Billy last night.

"I've got this one," Joseph told him, his own smile cold as he aimed at the man's head and began to pull the trigger. The man's body was jerked back a few feet with each shot, blood pouring from his wounds, before the tenth shot finally took him to the floor.

Joseph stood over him for long, tense moments, waiting to see if the axe-man revived. When the super-zombie just continued to bleed, he turned back to the other man. "Are you alright?" he asked, unable to hide his concern—or his anger.

"Yeah." Billy didn't notice as he eyed the downed zombie, and the carnivorous plant, warily. He continued to back away from the door, his eyes wide with fear. "That plant just ate a man, Joe. Maybe, you shouldn't stay in there."

He glanced over his shoulder, glaring at the still-twitching tentacles. He left the room, grabbing the door to close it. It fell off the hinges, hitting floor with a loud bang, and he glared at Billy. "Way to go, Coen," he snapped. "I can't close it, because you kicked it off its hinges."

"Sorry," Billy snapped right back, sarcasm lacing his words, "I was too busy trying to save those damned hikers to worry about keeping the door intact."

Joseph reloaded as he said, "Yeah, and you did a fine job of _that_, didn't you?"

Billy's gaze went to the room beyond him, and the three remaining bodies. "I tried," he said in a more subdued voice. "There wasn't anything I could do. They were dead by the time I got the door open."

"Yeah?" Joseph questioned with suspicion. "Do you really expect me to believe that? Are telling me that if I check those bodies, I won't find any .9 millimeter bullet wounds?"

"Of course not!" Billy snapped, shocked by the other man's harsh words. "Joe, what's wrong with you? Why are you—"

"You know why." His voice dropped to a low, menacing level. "I used my police clearance to look into your story. Do you want to know what I found?"

He watched as comprehension dawned on the fugitive's face. His fine features took on an angry cast. "So," he said with astonishing bitterness, "you're just like everybody else, aren't you, Joe? You're going to buy the Marines' bullshit and turn your back on me too?"

"No, Billy," Joseph replied with genuine regret. "I'm going to arrest you."

Billy made a choked sound, shaking his head negatively. "You'll have to kill me first, Joe. I won't go back."

"Yes, you will."

The words were uttered softly, and with such conviction, that Billy knew he meant them. "So much for cooperation," he muttered under his breath. His hand clenched convulsively on the nearly empty Beretta, and he knew that he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill another human being in cold blood, not even to save his own ass.

Surrendering to the inevitable, he lifted his head and met the other man's animalistic eyes. His own widened and the gun came flying up. "Joe, look out—!"

He felt the shot before he heard it. He flew back, unable to catch his breath as the buckshot hit him high on the right shoulder. He hit the ground hard, unable to believe that Joe had shot him, even as blood began to pool on the ground beneath him. The pain threatened to rob him of awareness and he fought it with everything he had. If Joe was going to kill him, he was going to force the cop to look him in the eye while he did it.

Joseph pulled the trigger before he could stop himself, an automatic response to a perceived threat. He heard a sharp noise behind him and whirled around. The zombie with the axe had risen to its feet, that bloody axe raised above his head. Joe blasted it into oblivion, watching dispassionately as it fell once more. He turned back to where Billy laid, guilt overwhelming him as he did so.

He was shocked to see another man there, this one in full riot gear. "Who the hell are you?" he asked as he found himself staring down the barrel of a TMP machine gun. The man's free arm wrapped itself around Billy's waist, and Joseph took a step forward. "Get the fuck away from him," he all but growled.

Fuck you," the other man said flatly, his voice distorted by the full-faced helmet he wore. "Billy, can you stand?"

"H-Hunk?" Billy asked weakly, his voice faint but disbelieving.

"Yeah, kid. It's me. Sorry, I'm so late." The man called Hunk pulled him into a sitting position. "Can you stand?" he repeated patiently.

"Yeah, I think so." Billy managed to get his feet under him, but the other man had to take most of his weight. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"Later, kid." Joseph watched as the stranger lifted the machine gun on level with his head. "Does he live or die?"

"Hunk!" he protested feebly. "You can't."

"He just shot you in cold blood," the newcomer pointed out coldly, "but the choice is yours."

"Then, he lives," came the whispered answer.

"Okay." That helmeted head shifted slightly, as did the gun. "We're leaving, now. If you try to stop us, I _will_ kill you."

"He's a fugitive," Joseph stated, his own voice cold. "It's my job to apprehend him."

"Yeah, that's why you just pumped a round buckshot into him." The stranger backed away, Billy Coen firmly in tow. "If you ever come near him again, you're a fucking dead man. Do you understand me, cop?"

Joseph's adrenaline spiked at the calmly-spoken promise. "Perfectly," he returned softly, reaching up to remove the sunglasses. He lifted his head with a small smile, knowing just how his eyes must look. "And if I ever see you again, you'll spend the rest of your life in a jail cell. Do _you_ understand?"

"You're a fucking B.O.W.!" the man in black hissed angrily, preparing to fire.

"Hunk, no!" Billy grabbed the barrel with a desperate hand. "He didn't mean to shoot me, and he's already saved my life twice. Please," he added in a choked voice, "just get me out of here."

"Fine, kid, but you'd better explain this to me later."

"I will."

Joseph watched with a sense of surrealism as the two men melted into the shadows. Even his enhanced eyesight couldn't penetrate the shadows in the far end of the room, so he was forced to remain where he was, until he heard yet another stirring behind him. He whipped around, filled with disbelief, as the flannel-clad zombie rose a _third _ time.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Joseph tried to pump the shotgun and cursed as it refused to budge. "Dammitt, I'm out of ammo!"

He ran to his left, leaping for the top of the stairs. He landed easily and immediately began to reload, whirling around to confront the approaching menace. Before he could fire the first shot, the clatter of machine-gun fire rang out, and the axe-man was down in seconds.

"Billy?" he shouted, his eyes going to where he'd seen the machine gun's muzzle-flashes. "Where are you?"

"Goodbye, Joe."

He heard the barely whispered words, the scrape of metal on concrete, and then he was alone.

* * *

Hunk dragged the dead weight that was Billy Coen through the sewers, grateful that he hadn't run into any B.O.W.s down here. Billy was out cold, his breathing labored, as he bled all over them both. Hunk cursed soundly and threw the unconscious man over his shoulder. He sprinted through the knee-high water, knowing that he didn't have a lot time before Billy went into shock.

Anger filled him as he realized just how close he had cut it. He'd planned this so well, down to the last micro-second, and a dead man had blown it all to hell. "Goddamn Umbrella," he muttered to himself, wishing that they'd been a little more careful when disposing of James Marcus.

"The least they could have done was burn the damned body," he told the insensate man. "But no, they just dumped him in the factory and left him there, never thinking that his little pets slugs might go looking for him. Dumbasses!"

His employers paid him extremely well, but he was _not_ happy with them at the moment. Not only had they fucked up with Marcus, but they had tried to recruit Billy for the U.B.C.S.. Talk about a fucking death sentence, he thought angrily. No wonder the kid had chosen the firing squad. At least, he'd have died human!

"Don't worry, kid. I'm going to take care of everything," he promised the other man. "Umbrella will never fuck with you, again. _That _ I guarantee."

And he _would_ make it happen, Hunk swore silently. The kid would be safe from Umbrella, if not law enforcement. Otherwise, heads would roll. He knew enough to put Umbrella out of business for good, and he wouldn't hesitate to use his knowledge if it became necessary. Billy hadn't deserved any of this shit, and he wasn't going to pay for it.

But the ones who had done this to him would. Hunk smiled coldly beneath the mask, already imagining it. That damned commander of Billy's would go first, followed by the two teammates who had lied to cover the man's ass. Then, he would take out each and every person who had stupidly courted death by participating in the cover-up. He was even considering doing Billy's father, just for being such a supreme dick. And why not? he asked himself. He'd already done the ex-girlfriend.

Which would probably piss the kid off, Hunk reminded himself. Better not to mention that. The poor kid was just beginning to realize what the world was really like. It was something Hunk had tried to prepare him for, even as he'd hoped that Billy would never really need the knowledge. He had been so idealistic when he was younger. Stupid or not, it had been one of the kid's better qualities.

Not that there would be much left of _that_, Hunk thought sadly. Billy had spent three years in a Marine loony-bin, getting treatment for his PTSD, so that he would be mentally sound when they executed him. God only knew what that had done to the poor kid. And now he might die, because Hunk didn't dare take him to the extraction point, where an Umbrella helicopter was waiting for him. It was a risk that he simply couldn't take.

Hunk had no doubt that Umbrella knew all about Billy Coen. After all, it had been the kid's refusal to join them that had sealed his fate. Had he accepted their deal, it would have been easy for Hunk to bullshit his way in and escape with the kid. After all, he was their most proficient agent. His reputation preceded him, and most people were smart enough to be scared.

Umbrella would be looking for Billy now, determined to eliminate what they saw as a threat to them. The younger man had seen too much, even going so far as to work with a _cop_, to survive the outbreak. That bastard Wesker had turned on Umbrella Inc.. He had been in the process of selling Umbrella's secrets to The Agency, Umbrella's main rival, when he had supposedly died in the Spenser Mansion.

Hunk knew better. A man like Albert Wesker would have been prepared for any contingency, and had probably put safeguards in place before leading his team into the mansion. Wesker was as dead as Lieutenant Billy Coen.

He couldn't let his superiors know that Billy had survived. That cop, Chambers, had declared Billy dead, going so far as to claim that he had turned into a zombie in the training facility. But Umbrella wasn't taking chances. Billy had a price on his head now, and he wouldn't be safe anywhere until proof of his death was found. Proof that it was now up to Hunk to provide.

Hunk reached up to the side of his helmet and flicked the small switch there. "This is Death," he said shortly. "I'm unable to rendezvous at the extraction point. I'll find my own way out, and contact you with further information."

_"Yes, sir,"_ a disembodied voice said from the microphone beside his right ear. _"I'll inform H.Q. immediately."_

"Good. Hunk out." He turned the mike off and shifted Billy to his other shoulder. The kid groaned as though in pain, but didn't wake. "We're almost out of this, kid. Just hang on a little while longer. I'll get us a room, and I'll take care of those wounds. Okay?"

Of course, Billy didn't answer, but Hunk was talking more to alleviate his own worry than anything else. It was a habit that he and the younger man both shared, one of the few things they actually had in common. They were as different as night was from day, but that didn't matter to Hunk. Blood was blood, after all.

He trudged through the waste-laden sludge until he came to a ladder. Smiling grimly, Hunk slung his weapon over his left shoulder, put on hand on Billy's back to steady him, and began to climb. He reached the top, carefully balancing the other man, as he reached up to slide the manhole out of the way. He managed to pull them both up, wincing as he finally lost his grip on Billy, who hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Shit," he muttered, pulling his legs out the hole and covering it once again. He was in an underground parking garage, part of an Umbrella-run facility hidden in the heart of Raccoon City. "Not that we're staying here, kid. I'm not that stupid. I've got another place in mind, a place that an ex of mine uses on occasion."

He checked Billy's wounds as he spoke, trying not to let his concern get the best of him as he saw the younger man's overall condition. "Damn it, kid. Why the hell are you so skinny? Didn't they feed you in that damned prison?"

"Not that you look bad," he said, carrying him to a dark corner of the garage. "Because you don't. You've still got your muscles, just none of your bulk. They wouldn't let you work out in that hell-hole, huh?"

"Well, that's over. You'll never have to worry about being a prisoner, again. I'll see to that." Hunk propped him up carefully, pausing a moment to ruff his dirty hair. "It's good to see you again, kid. Even like this."

He rose to his feet and retrieved the vehicle that he kept here. It was a rather plain looking sedan, painted a sedate shade of blue, nothing that would draw the attention of law enforcement. He drove back to the other man and put him in the back seat of the car. He grabbed a blanket out of the trunk and covered the shivering man, then stashed his machine gun in the trunk's false bottom.

He quickly stripped down, his uniform joining his weapons, and changed into street clothes. He grabbed his favorite handgun, a .45 caliber Desert Eagle, and tucked it into the back of his belt. He had a rig for it, but he didn't want to fuck with that now. Billy was in a world of hurt, and he wanted to get him to safety as soon as possible.

He ran a hand through his dark blond hair and climbed behind the wheel. He started the engine, hit a switch, and waited for the windows for darken before leaving the garage. He turned onto Central Street and drove south, taking right where it crossed Park Street, heading away from the Control Station. He turned into a large, gated community, using a forged keycard to open the gates.

He drove through the quiet neighborhood slowly, doing nothing to call attention to himself. He guided the sedan to a large house set a little apart from the others, owned by a little corporation known as either The Organization, or The Agency. They were Umbrella's biggest rivals, in both the pharmaceutical arena and biological weapons development. He'd dated one of their best agents a couple years back, just before Billy's life had effectively detonated. This was a safe house that only she used, so it should be safe enough for he and Billy.

She was on a mission right now, but she'd be back soon enough. She probably wouldn't be happy to see him, Hunk thought with a grin. As soon as he'd been informed of Billy's situation, he'd taken off, and he hadn't gone back. He still ran into her from time to time, when their paths crossed on a mission. She hadn't been angry with him for leaving, just for doing so without informing her. For a while there, she'd believed him to be dead.

Yeah, he probably should've called, he acknowledged silently. But with Billy's very life on the line, he had dedicated all of his time to investigating the young man's case, and trying to find a way to free him. Which had finally come after three long, frustrating years, when the Marines had deemed him stable enough to be executed. Had they not decided to transport him two nights ago, he might never have been able to free him.

Not that he'd done all that much, Hunk thought with a grin. Dr. Marcus had been the one to unleash the T-virus in the Arklay Mountains. As angry as he was for what Umbrella had set in motion, he was also grateful. He hadn't been given permission to launch a full-scale rescue mission for a condemned murderer who had turned the corporation down. But he _had_ been given authorization for a small, one-man assault team. His immediate supervisor knew that Umbrella owed him, and had paid him back by giving him a pilot and letting him rescue his brother.

If only he had arrived sooner. Hunk glanced in the rearview mirror, his hazel eyes narrowing with worry. If Billy died, heads were going to roll, starting with that asshole cop with the B.O.W. eyes. And it _wouldn't _be a quick death.

He pulled into the driveway, triggered the door, and parked in the garage. "We're here, kid," he announced quietly, the words nearly drowned out as the door slid closed behind them.

He climbed out of the driver's and opened the back door, doing his best not to jostle Billy as he lifted him into his arms. He grunted a little at the weight, and took the insensate man into the house. He carried him upstairs, to a guest room that was actually an infirmary. He laid Billy down on the one of the beds, and immediately began to work on his wounds. He concentrated on finding and removing all of the buckshot, his anger mounting with each small ball that he removed. Billy cried out from time to time, twisting away from him, but he never woke.

Hunk sprayed the wounds liberally with first aid spray and bandaged the shoulder tightly. He was only grateful that the bulk of the shot had missed the kid. Otherwise, Billy would already be dead. Now, he would wait to see infection set in. If it did, he would have to delay their escape and pump the kid full of antibiotics to fight it.

"Fuck," he swore wearily, dragging a chair to the bedside and dropping into. "You sure know how to find trouble, don't you?"

Billy's eyes fluttered open at his tired words. "Sorry," he rasped, his voice a mere breath of sound. "I never meant to drag you into this."

"You didn't drag me into anything, kid." Hunk leaned forward in the chair, his hazel eyes studying the younger man intently. "None of this is your fault, Billy. You got that?"

"Yeah, I've got it." Billy managed a ragged smile before closing his eyes once more. "I've missed you, Hunk."

"I've missed you, too," he returned quietly, settling back for the long wait.

* * *

Joseph stared into the shadows, his eyes finally adjusting to the total darkness on the far side of the room. He saw a closed manhole and knew how the mystery man Billy had called Hunk had gained access to the hospital. He considered going into the sewers after them, then discarded the idea. The stranger had wanted him dead. Only Billy's insistence that he lived had saved his life. If he went down there and tried to apprehend them, he might not come out.

He had other priorities right now. He needed to get ahold of Jill and arrange a meeting. He couldn't return to his own life, so he had to figure out what to do. If the woman he loved didn't kill him outright, she just might be able to help him do that.

How would she react? Joseph asked himself as he left the basement. Would she shoot him, as Billy had done, believing him to be one of Umbrella's monsters? Would she be disgusted by what he had become? Was it even possible that she could accept him now that he wasn't fully human?

He didn't know, and it scared him. Before he'd arrived in the Arklay Mountains, he'd known just who and what he was. He'd had a good—albeit dangerous—job, teammates that he could trust to guard his back, and a woman that any man would kill to possess. His parents had been proud of their youngest son, as had his three siblings. He'd had a life, damn it! And now, it was all just. . .gone.

Joseph stumbled towards the door, realizing that he had to put distance between himself and whatever that thing with the axe really was. If he couldn't kill it, maybe he could outrun it. He thought of Billy's earlier words, about the zombies' tracking abilities, and put on some speed. He didn't want that thing busting _his _head open!

He left the hospital the same way he came, through the main doors. He slid the sunglasses in place to protect his too-sensitive eyes and trotted down the steps. The pretty plants with the orange bulbs opened once more, releasing the greenish mist that had nearly killed Billy. If they hadn't poisoned him earlier, the odds were that they wouldn't now. While he wasn't sure of much, he thought it likely that he was immune to their toxin.

The thought that he wasn't human once again filled him with anguish, and he shoved it away. Unless he could find a way to reverse what had been done to him, he was stuck like this. He might as well get used to it, and see just how many unique abilities he now possessed. Besides being able to heal from a headshot, he thought with a shake of his head.

He paused as he reached the end of the walkway, realizing that he needed to stay away from the main streets. Although, he had cleaned himself up in the hospital, he was still wearing his tactical vest and supply pack. That alone would draw attention to him. The last thing he wanted was to try to convince one of Raccoon City's finest of his identity. Especially, once he was asked to remove the sunglasses.

Joseph put the shotgun away with reluctance. He didn't like leaving himself vulnerable, but he'd get arrested for sure if he was seen carrying. And he could probably outrun anything the R.P.D. threw at him, he thought with dark humor. So for now, he would make his way to Jill's apartment. Unarmed but far from helpless.

He cut around the back of the hospital and took the path behind the St. Michael Clock Tower. He went over a small bridge that took him over the Circular River and headed south. He had a long way to go before he reached Downtown Raccoon, and the day promised to be another scorcher.

Jill had a small apartment down off Ennerdale Street, right by Raccoon High School. She'd always hated the location, but the rent had been reasonable, and she was only a mile or so away from work. They'd talked about getting her a place in a nicer neighborhood, but she wasn't one to make snap decisions. She believed in taking her time and thoroughly assessing the situation first.

She was also damned picky. Joseph smiled to himself. Jill wanted the next place she lived to be a home, not another temporary residence. She had been saving money since arriving in Raccoon City nearly three years ago, determined to buy a house in a good area. He'd hinted that he wouldn't mind living in such a place himself, which had caused her to frown at him, and ignore the comment altogether.

He'd known that she wasn't ready to discuss anything permanent. Jill didn't believe that marriage was necessary, probably a by-product of her early childhood, and her parents' rocky relationship. But he'd made sure that she knew he was willing to make that commitment, just in case she changed her mind once she finally realized that she could trust him. Of course, Chris' approval had gone a long way towards helping his cause, too.

Joseph scowled darkly at the thought. Before last night, he hadn't minded that the other man was in love with his girl. After all, Jill was a beautiful woman, and Chris had known her far longer than he had himself, and had no problem settling for her friendship. Now, he found that he hated the thought of the other man being there for Jill. Even though he knew that Redfield wouldn't try anything, he found himself feeling more possessive of Jill Valentine than he ever had before.

He'd just come back from the dead, he thought with a wince, still stunned by the reality of it. If near-death experiences could cause acute emotional shifts, sometimes even a total change in personality, what would actually returning from the dead to a man?

Joseph wasn't sure he wanted to know. Already, he had changed—and not just physically. The man who had flown into the Arklay Mountains with S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't have thought twice about taking a fugitive down. Before his death, he would have been completely focused on tracking Billy Coen down and taking him into custody. Now, as angry as he was with the other man, he found that he didn't really care. If Billy and his helmeted friend wanted to run, let them. He had other things to worry about, and he was sure that their paths would cross again eventually. Raccoon City wasn't that big.

He was more worried about what he was going to say to Jill when he saw her again. How was he going to explain just what had happened to him, when he really didn't understand it himself? He only hoped that she would give him a chance to try. Dying was something he could handle, and probably recover from. Losing Jill Valentine was not.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Resident Evil, or any of its characters. I'm just a humble fan who was highly disappointed by RE5. Fortunately, RE6 is _more _than making up for it! Thank you, Capcom, for the return of the zombies!

**Synopsis:** I was playing REmake, and started wondering just what it had to be like for the characters between games. I mean, beyond the files and short endings. Not to mention, why they killed off some potentially decent characters so quickly. This is what happens when I get bored. So, here goes nothing. . .

**Author's Note:** Still betaless, so please ignore any mistakes you might find. That said, I hope you enjoy the tale. Now, on with the show! **  
**

* * *

RESIDENT EVIL

Chapter Three

"My, what do we have here?"

Hunk's eyes flew open, and he cursed as he realized that he had fallen asleep. He found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, a modified .9 millimeter, at that. His raised his gaze slowly, and barely refrained from rolling his eyes as he saw who was holding it. "Good to see you again, sweetheart."

Ada Wong smiled slightly, though the gun never wavered. "That's debatable, now isn't it?" she countered smoothly.

He returned the half-smile, his hazel eyes locking on her sapphire ones. "Are you going to use that pea-shooter, honey?"

"I'm considering it," she drawled. She studied him closely before slowly holstering the Beretta. "I suppose I shouldn't, if I want to find out what you're doing here."

"Gee, thanks." Hunk remained seated, crossing his arms over his chest. "I take it you're still pissed at me?"

She laughed, the husky sound enough to stir any man's blood. "No, Hunk. I'm just wondering why an Umbrella agent is sleeping in an Agency safe house?"

"Why do you think?" he asked caustically, his gaze moving to the bed beside him. "I needed a safe place to take the kid."

"Ah." Ada took a step toward the bed, tilting her head to one side as she studied the unconscious man. She took note of the bandages on his shoulder and arm, as well as his overall appearance. He was quite dirty. "The poor thing looks like he's had a rough time. Who is he?"

"My brother," came the short, terse answer. "My intel said that you would be gone for at least another week. What are you doing here, Lily?"

"It's Ada, now," she reminded him absently, her midnight blue eyes running over the man in question. "To answer your question, my mission ended rather abruptly. He doesn't look like you, Hunk."

"We've got different fathers," he said with a shrug, used to her rapid subject changes. It was a way to keep others off-balance, and her in control of the conversation. "I need to stay here for a while, until the kid can travel. Is that going to be a problem?"

Ada flashed him a mysterious smile. "Well, that depends on you," she said somewhat cryptically, causing him to laugh.

"You want to barter, huh?" He patted his lap, laughing again as she raised a single eyebrow in response. "Do you need anything in particular, sweets?"

She made an appreciative sound and approached him, standing over him with another smile. "Maybe, a little inside intel," she purred persuasively, dropping onto his lap. His hands grasped her hips, as hers slid into his tawny hair. "You tell me exactly what happened in the Arkham Mountains, and I'll help you and your brother lie low. What do you say?"

Hunk laughed again, knowing that whatever he told her, she'd already know. "You're still a bitch, honey," he told her fondly.

"Of course," Ada returned wickedly. "Would you want me any other way?"

"Hell, no!" Her brushed his lips across his, and the smile disappeared. "I'm in serious shit here, babe. The kid's wanted, and he's in no position to run right now. I need to know that you're not going to screw us over."

She tried to look hurt, but just couldn't pull it off. "My superiors would suspect me if they knew I had ties to an Umbrella operative," she told him flatly. "If I'm going to put my life on the line, I want to know why."

Hunk glanced towards his brother and nodded. "You're looking at the reason, babe."

She glanced at the unconscious man with the dark hair, her curiosity peaked. She took seat on the other bed, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. She settled back against the headboard and waved him forward. "Talk to me, Hunk. Tell why I should risk my career—and my life—for you and your brother."

He sat on the edge of the bed and told her everything, trusting her as he had only one other person. Lily—Ada, he reminded himself—might be a bitch, but she took care of her own. Their common interests had formed a strong, though slightly warped, bond between them. If he couldn't trust her with this, then he couldn't trust anyone.

"Why didn't you just tell me that your brother was Billy Coen?" she asked at length. "The Organization is well aware of the role he played in Arklay Mountains two nights ago."

"What role?" Hunk asked sharply, praying that Billy hadn't taken Umbrella's deal, after all. "What the hell are you saying?"

"Just that he and a member of S.T.A.R.S. were stranded together in the mountains," she said soothingly, surprised by the show of protectiveness. It was so unlike the man she knew. "They cooperated with one another, although Lieutenant Coen was declared dead this morning."

He released a harsh breath, relief nearly paralyzing him. "That much, I knew," he said impatiently.

"He killed James Marcus," Ada said with studied casualness.

Hunk looked at her sharply. "James Marcus died ten years ago, Lily." Her gorgeous sapphire eyes narrowed on his, and he said, "Sorry—_Ada."_

"That's better." Ada's smile was cool as she continued. "As I was saying, he and Officer Chambers killed James Marcus a second time night before last. Apparently, his laboratory leeches had bonded with him after his original death, and resurrected him. He went after your brother and his partner that night. They destroyed the monster he had become, and blew up the training facility."

"Good," he said bluntly, not caring how much they had cost his employers, so long as his brother had survived. "I need to know that I can trust you in this, Ada. I don't give a fuck what happens to me, but I don't want my brother harmed."

She nodded, running a hand through her silkily black hair. It tousled becomingly around her stunning features, an effect he knew that she was fully aware of. "You'll owe me one," she pointed out in a deliberately sensual voice.

One corner of Hunk's mouth curled up in a cynical smile, knowing that being indebted to this woman was not a good thing. Still, it was his brother's life that he was buying with his promise. Billy was worth it.

"Done," he murmured, reaching out to smooth one hand up the silky length of her leg. "I need to get back to my brother, but I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate you, honey."

"You're too smart not to, Hunk." Ada curled her legs under her and shifted closer, brushing her lips across his. "I've got a few things to take care of, myself. So, why don't I give you a rain check? We can finish this," she trailed a finger down his torso suggestively, "later."

Hunk laughed as her hand settled in a _very_ sensitive place. "Not too much later, I hope."

"No," she whispered, slanting her head and kissing him deeply. She drew back, her lips curving in response to his wicked grin, and released him. "Go back to your brother, handsome. I've got a report to work on."

"Sure thing, sweets." He rose to his feet and made an adjustment that sent her into peals of husky laughter. "Just don't fuck me on this, babe, or I'll kill you."

Ada stretched out on her side, knowing just how much of a temptation she was at that moment. "Don't worry, Hunk. I'm not in any hurry to die."

He sent her a meaningless wink as he resumed his seat. "Good, because I'm not in much of a hurry to kill you."

Ada lingered for a few moments longer, her royal blue gaze moving back and forth between them. The injured man looked younger than his brother, but he definitely wasn't a child. Somewhere in his mid-twenties, she'd guess, and handsome to boot. While he wasn't her type—he was too dark for her tastes—he was certainly easy on the eyes.

She didn't like the tattoo, though. It began at the top of his right shoulder, and wound down the entire length of his arm. She wasn't fond of body art, no matter how well drawn, and she was already bored with the whole family reunion thing.

Ada rose gracefully to her feet, smiling as Hunk's gaze was drawn to her legs. "Well, I think I'll leave you to play nursemaid," she announced, mentally reviewing all she would have to do to hide their presence from her superiors. "We'll continue our. . .discussion later."

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Hunk hesitated before adding, "Thank you—Ada."

"You're welcome, lover." She waved carelessly and strutted to the door, throwing over her shoulder, "You can introduce me to you brother later, as well."

Hunk watched her leave the room with appreciative green-gold eyes. There was no doubt about it. The woman who called herself Ada Wong was definitely a ball-breaking bitch. It would take a man with more patience than _he_ possessed to tame her. It was a hellova thought, though.

"She's got an amazing body." His head whipped around the low-spoken words. "Who is she?"

Hunk shrugged his big shoulders, his green eyes glinting. "Just someone I know from work," he said casually. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," came the blunt, if weak, answer. "Now, will you tell me how you knew where to find me?"

"I found the wreck of the M.P.'s jeep," he stated somewhat grimly, "as well as what was left of a mansion in the Arklay Mountains. It was easy to track you from there."

"Why?" Billy asked at length, not bothering to hide his animosity. "I haven't seen you in over three years. Why did you bother looking for me, at all?"

At the hurt buried in his brother's angry eyes, he sighed and explained, "I've spent the last three years trying to find a way to get you out of the stockade. I knew that if I contacted you, it would be all over. I couldn't take that chance, Billy. I had to remain a ghost."

Billy's lips thinned at his words. He wished like hell that he could believe his older brother, but actions spoke louder than words, and nobody listened to _those._ "It's cool," he told the older man shortly. "No one else believed me, either. There's no reason you should have."

"Don't say that!" Hunk told him harshly. "Don't you _ever_ say that to me, again!"

He sighed heavily, suddenly exhausted. "Hunk—"

"I did everything I could to get you out of that fucking place," Hunk hissed furiously. "Until they finally decided to move you, I couldn't do shit. I'm sorry that my contacts weren't good enough, but don't think for a minute that I bought that Marine bullshit. Do you understand me?"

"I'm sorry," Billy told him in a quiet voice. He looked up at the man he had always admired, the older half-brother who had never cared what others thought of him, and attempted a smile. "It's just that. . .you're the first, Hunk. Dad didn't even believe me."

Hunk grunted. "That's because your old man is a dick," he told him bluntly.

"True," Billy conceded reluctantly. He reached up with his left hand and gently touched the bandage on his right shoulder. "How bad did he get me?"

"You'll live, provided you don't get an infection." Hunk lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Either way, we'll be stuck here in Raccoon while you heal."

Billy's face lit up at his words. "We're in Raccoon City?"

"Yes, we are," Hunk said warily. "Why?"

"Because there's someone I have to contact here."

_Shit! _Hunk gazed at his younger brother with a sinking feeling. "Tell me it's not that S.T.A.R.S. member you worked with in the mountains?"

"She made it, then," Billy murmured, his entire countenance changing. "You should've have seen her, Hunk. She'd just whip out that little gun of hers and start blasting away. She saved my life more than once, and set me free when it was over. I've never met anyone like her," he added with obvious admiration.

"Billy. . ." Hunk cursed under his breath. He did _not _ need this complication. "You know you can't see her, kid."

Billy's fine features hardened, and Hunk had his first glimpse of what three years in military hell had done to his half-brother. "Yes, I can," he stated flatly, looking fully prepared to fight over the matter. "I don't know how you know about her, and I don't care. I didn't tell Rebecca how I felt before we parted ways, and I should have. Now that I know she survived, I'm going to."

"No, you're not." Hunk rose to his feet, his granite features taking on a sinister cast. "You're finally a free man, and I'm not going to let you blow that on some piece of tail."

Billy's expression closed completely. "She is not a piece of tail," he said in a too-soft voice. "If you ever call her that again, I'll—"

He broke off, looking away as he realized that he'd almost threatened his own brother. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly, his anger gone as quickly as it had surfaced. "It's just that. . .this one's different, Hunk. I-I love her."

"Oh, fuck me," Hunk muttered under his breath. He plunged both hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "Goddamn it, kid! You're going to get yourself killed thinking like that!"

"Maybe, it'd better that way," Billy said simply, devastatingly.

Hunk lifted his head and stared at him, dumbfounded. "What the fuck are you saying?" he demanded angrily.

Billy merely shrugged, flinching as pain screamed through his right shoulder. His breath caught, and forced himself to breathe through the pain. "Nevermind, Hunk. It's not important."

"The hell it isn't!" Hunk jumped to his feet, wishing he'd paid a little more attention to the psychiatric reports the Marines had compiled on the kid. "There's nothing more important than being alive, Billy. Nothing at all."

An image of Joseph flashed through Billy's mind. "You're wrong, Hunk," he said sadly. "I'd rather be dead than lose my humanity."

"The B.O.W." Hunk let out a harsh breath and forced himself to sit back down. "Tell me how you ended up at Raccoon City Hospital with yet another member of S.T.A.R.S.?"

"He saved me from a pack of Cerberus' in the woods," Billy answered, adding, "A Cerberus is—"

"One of the dead Dobermans," Hunk cut in dryly. "Yeah, I ran across them while I was tracking _you."_

Billy studied him with suddenly suspicious eyes. "How did you know what they're called, Hunk?"

He frowned again at the kid's question. No matter how fucked up Billy might be, it hadn't dimmed his intelligence any. "The same way I know about Chambers," he lied evenly, "through a contact in the R.P.D."

"Oh." The younger man closed his eyes for a moment before smiling crookedly. "Well, after Rebecca left me in the mountains, I was making my here. I got attacked by the Dobies, and this guy came out of nowhere and shot a couple. The entire pack took off, and then I got a look at his eyes, and I freaked. _I_ shot _him," _ he added with obvious embarrassment.

Hunk grunted. "Good," he said curtly.

"No, not good," Billy assured him. "I was going through the guy's stuff when he started thrashing around. He _healed,_ Hunk, even though I'd just shot him in the head."

"A head shot?" Hunk questioned sharply. That wasn't supposed to be possible, he thought uneasily. The younger man nodded, and he released a long breath. "You're sure you got him in the head?"

"Yeah, Hunk. I'm sure." Billy smiled faintly at the memory. "It scared the hell out of me, until he spoke. His girl's name, he said later. Anyway, he started snoring, and I knew that I couldn't just leave out there in the woods. Not with those dogs and the zombies running around. So, I waited until he woke up and suggested that we cooperate."

Hunk rolled his eyes at that. The kid might be a twenty-six year old man now, but he obviously still had a fear of being alone. "You sound as though you liked him," he commented at length.

"Yeah, I did," Billy muttered, "right up to the point when he tried to arrest me."

"I didn't see a pair handcuffs in his hands," Hunk pointed out irritably. "All I saw was the Remington he shot you with."

"We were trying to save those hikers from that the axe-guy killed, Hunk."

"Uh-huh," his brother said, obviously not impressed. "And that's why he plugged you full of buckshot."

Billy flushed uncomfortably. "That surprised me, too," he admitted. "I don't think he meant to shoot me, Hunk. I think he panicked when he saw _me _raise the Beretta."

Hunk made a rude sound and crossed his arms. "Bullshit," he muttered succinctly.

The younger man laughed, then groaned in pain. "Don't make me laugh, Hunk. It hurts."

"Sorry, kid. I'll do my best." Hunk thought of the cop's eyes, and how they had flashed with yellow fire. "Do you know how he became a B.O.W.?"

"He said that he was attacked by the Cerberus', and that he woke up that way." Billy's voice wavered as exhaustion swept over him. "He didn't know what had happened to him. He was scared as hell, Hunk. He probably still is."

Hunk made a non-committal sound, though he didn't doubt that the cop _was _scared. This was an unusual development, one that Umbrella certainly hadn't planned for. This S.T.A.R.S. member hadn't been turned a zombie by the T-virus, nor been administered the Tyrant protocols. By all rights, he _should_ be dead, and Hunk wondered just what it was that had caused his body to react so uniquely to the virus.

Billy watched his older brother's expression close and was immediately suspicious. "How do you know so much about Umbrella?" he asked in a low voice. "It's not just some contact in the R.P.D., is it?"

"Actually, it is," Hunk surprised himself by answering. He had no intention of mentioning that the Chief of Police, Brian Irons, was in league with Umbrella Inc., but he could give his brother this much, even if it wasn't the complete truth. "I have an associate, who has a friend, who works in the R.P.D. records department. This associate has another friend, one who works in a secret facility not too far from here."

Midnight eyes sharpened on his. "The Arkham Training Facility?"

"No, not Arkham," Hunk said quietly, thinking of the destruction of the Spenser Mansion, and the abrupt end of Ada's assignment. "I'm sorry, kid. I can't tell you any more than that."

"Hunk. . ." Billy's voice trailed off as he realized that the other man knew much more than he was willing to divulge. "I thought you were just a mercenary, Hunk?"

Hunk looked down at his younger brother, hating the disillusionment in he saw reflected in the kid's shocked expression. "I am a merc, Billy. A very highly-paid one," he added defensively.

"And Umbrella can afford you?" Billy asked bitterly.

"Yes."

Billy watched him pace, trying not to feel betrayed. "They offered me a deal, you know."

He stopped dead in his tracks but didn't turn around. "Yeah, I heard."

"What would you have done if I'd taken it?" Billy asked, suddenly very tired. "Would you have transported me to the facility yourself if they'd ordered it?"

"Hell, no!" Hunk whirled around, nailing the younger man with a furious glare. "I'd have gotten you the fuck out of there, come hell or high water!"

Billy met his gaze for a long moment before looking away. "Then, thank you, Hunk."

Hunk watched as he turned onto his left side and closing his eyes, and knew that the conversation was over. He left the room and very quietly closed the door behind him. As he went downstairs to find Ada, he wondered if Billy would still be there when he returned, and what he would do if he wasn't.

* * *

Joseph looked up at the Raccoon Arms apartment building, swallowing nervously as he worked up the courage to go inside. He'd spied Jill's Accord parked on the street, Chris' red truck parked three cars behind it. As pissed as he had been when he'd first seen it, he wasn't the least bit surprised. If Jill was grieving—and he liked to think that she was—then nothing short of death could have kept Chris from helping her through it.

Which was a tempting thought, Joseph acknowledged with silent shame. He had always liked Chris Redfield, had taken comfort from knowing that he cared more for Jill's happiness than his own. But right now, at this very moment, he wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and take the man apart. He wanted to kill him slowly, to draw out the moment, and enjoy every bit of torment he could wring from a man he'd always admired.

Yes, there was something very wrong with him, and Joseph didn't know how to make it stop! It was as if all of his emotions were being amplified at once, distorted by some unknown factor, twisting into something dark and dangerous. Yet physically, he was in better shape than he had ever been in his life. He could run for miles without becoming winded, and with the sunglasses firmly in place, he could literally see for miles. He could smell everything, from the pollution that clogged the hot summer air, to the sweat of humanity as it milled around him. As for his hearing, he had learned more than he had _ever_ wanted to know about the residents of Raccoon City.

God, what's happening to me? he cried in silent anguish. This, more than anything, was what kept him rooted to sidewalk. What if he went up there and lost control? What if he attacked Chris in a fit of jealousy, and actually killed him?

Jill would never forgive him for that, he knew. She considered Chris and his kid sister family. Old man Burton, too, to some extent. But it was Chris Redfield that she cared for above all others, and she would defend him to the very last if pushed. Joseph didn't want to imagine what her reaction would be to losing him. She would kill whoever hurt Chris, and worry about feeling guilty later. She was one tough woman.

It was something he had always loved about her, that indomitable spirit that had helped her to survive her rough childhood. She was fiercely protective of those she loved, and for a brief time, he had been included in that exclusive circle. Would she be able to accept him now, as the monster he had become?

Joseph made a rough sound and forced himself to calm down. He knew that Jill had loved him; that knowledge had always surprised him. Now, he would find out if that love had been real, or if the nightmare of reality would turn her away.

He forced his unwilling feet to move and entered the building. He glanced briefly at the intercom, then at the locked glass door, and smiled slowly. He reached out and grasped the handle firmly, then pulled. The lock gave with a screech of twisted metal, and he was in. He ignored the ancient elevator and took the stairs two at a time, taking care to step lightly, so that he wouldn't draw attention to himself with excess noise.

He alighted noiselessly on the landing, allowing himself a small smile at his newfound agility. It died as he neared apartment 2c, replaced by a flash of fear he nearly couldn't control. He reached out and tried the knob, not surprised to find it locked. He pulled a small key ring out of his waist-pack and inserted a silver key into the lock. He heard the mechanism give and put the keys away, drawing a deep breath before slowly opening the door.

He found Chris sprawled out on the sofa, his right arm and leg hanging over the side. A blanket was twisted around him, and he mumbled incoherently in sleep, his brow furrowed as though his dreams were unpleasant. Good, Joseph thought coldly. It served him right for trying to move in on _his_ girl during such a difficult time!

Joseph chastised himself for his thoughts, even as he had to restrain himself from attacking his former teammate. He moved through the living room on silent feet, letting himself into Jill's bedroom and closing the door behind him. His leaned back against it, his gaze settling on the double bed. Jill had kicked the covers away in her sleep, and was curled up into a ball on _his_ side of the bed, a pillow clutched to her considerable chest.

His heart filled with emotions he couldn't describe as simply watched the woman he loved sleep. He slid down to the floor, unable to take his eyes off her. He loved her so much, he thought, blinking back tears. The light from the bedside lamp flowed over her, bathing her in soft golden light. Her hair was had a slight wave to it, as though she had gone to bed with it wet.

He wished that he could crawl into that bed and curl up beside her. He'd always held her as he slept, reluctant to be parted from her even in slumber. He had thought that being transferred to Alpha Team would give him more time with her. Instead, it had heralded the end of them.

"Jill," he whispered desolately, dropping his head to his knees.

"Joe?"

His head snapped up, his eyes widening behind the concealing shades. Jill's own gray-blue eyes were wide as their gazes met, her expression one of stunned disbelief. "Joseph?" she repeated incredulously, those stunning eyes filling with tears. "Is it really you?"

Joseph's lips trembled as he attempted a smile. "It's me, Jill."

She flew off the bed, dropping to her knees before him. Her hands shook as she slowly, fearfully, raised them to his face. She touched him with hesitant fingers, and he had to bite back a groan at the contact. "My God!" she exclaimed, her husky voice breathless. "You're alive!"

Jill threw her arms around him, sobbing as hugged her to him tightly. "Joe," she murmured brokenly, running her hand through his dark hair. "I thought you were dead!"

"I know," Joseph said hoarsely, burying his face in the slender length of her neck. "I thought I was dead, too."

"How?" she asked, even as she tightened her hold. "How did you survive the attack?"

Joseph shuddered violently. "I don't know," he answered as honestly as he could. "I woke up in the woods, and you guys were gone. I thought the dogs had gotten you, too."

"You remember that?" Jill loosened her hold just enough to look up at him.

"Yes," he said all too grimly. "After that, it's all black until I wake up."

"God!" She searched his expression, frowning as she suddenly realized that she couldn't see his eyes. She reached for the sunglasses and he stopped her, his hands grasping her wrists. "Joe, what's wrong?"

Joseph shook his head as the moment he had dreaded came upon him. "I'm different now, Jill."

"Different, how?" Jill asked with trepidation. "Are you infected with the T-virus?"

"I think. . ." he swallowed hard and said, "Yes, I believe I am."

"Oh, Joe." She hung her head for a long moment, her joy in her lover's survival eclipsed by the knowledge that he still might die. She finally raised her head, her hazy eyes sparking with determination. "Let me see, Joe."

"No," he whispered, his tone pleading. "Jill, please—"

"Show me," she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Joseph released her hands and slowly removed the sunglasses. He gazed at her from tawny amber eyes that were hauntingly beautiful, but nowhere near human. "Do you see?" he asked bitterly. "This is what I didn't want you to see, Jill. My. . .inhumanity."

"Stop." Jill brought her hands to his face once again, stunned by the change wrought in him, but too grateful that he was alive to care. "You're still the man I love, Joseph Frost. We'll figure this out, somehow."

He blinked as those tawny, animalistic eyes filled with tears. "You mean, that you can accept me," he questioned incredulously, "even like this?"

She nodded, her own tears spilling over, as she moved back into his embrace. "I'm just glad to have you back," she whispered brokenly.

"Oh, Jill." Joseph held him to her, taking care not to crush her with his newfound strength. He stroked his hands down the slender length of her back, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. "I love you, Jill."

"I love you, too," she told him passionately. "We'll find a way to cure you, Joe. Umbrella had to have some kind of antidote for this thing, right? We'll find it, and everything will be alright."

For the first time since awakening next to Billy Coen's campfire, he felt a sense of hope. "Do you really think so?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes," Jill said firmly, unable to believe otherwise, "yes, I do."

He smiled, the first real smile since awakening, and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Jill."

She turned her head, her classic features marred by a frown. "Don't ever thank me," she brushed her lips over his, "for loving you."

Joseph groaned deeply as a wholly human hunger swept through him. His mouth swooped down on hers in a voracious kiss, one which she returned with full fervor. He broke the kiss as it became too much for him, smiling down at the woman in his arms. She returned his smile beatifically, and his heart threatened to leap from his chest.

"Jill. . ."

She laid a hand along the side of his face, trailing her fingers over his sculpted cheek. "You're eyes are flashing," she murmured huskily, adding, "it's quite a turn-on. I like it."

He found himself blushing furiously at the sensual whisper. "It's not too weird for you?" he asked self-consciously.

She shook her head negatively. "Your eyes are nothing compared to what I saw in that mansion last night."

"Tell me," he entreated, settling back against the door and holding her close. "I want to hear everything."

Jill did, holding nothing back. She told him all that had happened in the Spenser Mansion, and of Wesker's devastating betrayal. Joseph listened in silence, his temper rising with each softly spoken word that she uttered. Alpha Team's captain, the founder of the Special Tactics And Rescue Service, had created S.T.A.R.S. so that he could acquire combat data on the monsters he had helped Umbrella create. He had sent Alpha Team into the Arklay Mountains, knowing full well that the T-virus had been released the night before. He had knowingly sacrificed Enrico, Richard, and all the others—including himself.

"Jesus!" Joseph shuddered violently as she burrowed closer. "God, I'm glad you survived!"

"Me too," Jill returned with a hint of her usual dryness. She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes, wishing that they could stay like this forever.

All too soon, their reunion was shattered. Joseph stiffened as he head movement in the other room. "Chris," he hissed, his anger returning in full force.

Jill lifted her head, surprised by the venom in his tone. "Joe, what is it?" she asked with concern. A soft knock sounded on the door, and she watched as her lover's chiseled features took on a sinister cast.

"Jill?"

"Don't tell him I'm here," Joe ordered, unable to contain a growl of fury. "Get rid of him."

She frowned at him as she pulled away. "Chris is our friend, Joe. He can help us with this."

"No!" he rumbled, struggling to keep his voice low. "Get rid of him, Jill—or I will."

Her beautiful blue-gray eyes were wide as she stared at him with disbelief. "Did you just threaten _Chris_? Joe, what's wrong with you?"

"Jill?" Chris voice was muffled by the door, but his concern was obvious. "I thought I heard voices in there. Are you okay?"

Joseph's yellowish eyes narrowed on her, and Jill knew her first moment of fear since being reunited with him. "I'm fine," she called out, the first seeds of doubt springing to life in her mind. "Go back to sleep, Chris."

There was a moment of silence, and then, "Are you sure, Jill?"

Joseph was furious. It showed in his expression, and his wildly flashing eyes. "Yes, Chris, I'm sure," she said in a firm tone. He didn't answer, and she sighed, knowing that he hadn't believed her. "I'll be out in a few minutes. Okay?"

"All right," he said slowly. "Just don't take too long."

"I won't."

Joseph waited until he was sure the other man had moved away before releasing her. He rose to his feet, his hands clenching into fists at his side. "I want you to stay away from him," he commanded imperiously, and her hackles rose in response.

"Why?" Jill questioned, her hands on her hips. "I've known Chris for five years. He's my best friend. He's _your_ friend, too. What the hell's gotten in to you, Joe?"

"He's in love with you!" Joseph told her angrily. "He always has been!"

She frowned darkly. "That's crap, Joe, and you know it."

"No, I don't." He literally growled at her, his rage a palpable thing. "Why do you think he's always touching you, listening to your problems, _being there_ for you?"

The thick sarcasm dripping from his words sparked her own temper. "He's _there for me_ because he's my friend," she hissed in return. "What's happened to you, Joe? Why are you acting like this?"

She had no way of knowing that he could hear the other man as he moved around her apartment, muttering to himself in his worry over the woman he loved. Chris was afraid to leave her alone, because he didn't know how Jill was going to react to losing _him._ He was planning on spending all of his free time with her, to make sure she got through _his _death with her emotional health intact.

Jill watched the emotions that chased one another across his handsome features. Rage was the most predominant, and it was all directed at a man he had once considered a friend. "You were right," she said in a quiet voice. "You are different."

He flinched at her words, the color draining from his face. "I told you," he said, his voice hoarse with barely leashed fury. His inhuman eyes flickered from her to the door, and literally glimmered with red-gold fire. "Stay away from him, Jill. I won't tell you, again."

Jill watched with disbelief as he turned towards her window, lifted the sill, and jumped out. She rushed to window, shocked to see him racing with incredible speed towards the high school. He rounded the building and disappeared from sight, leaving her trembling with fear. She fumbled with the window, pulling it closed and turning the little lock.

She closed the curtain and turned away, rubbing her arms to ward off a sudden chill. She'd thought that she'd do anything to have Joe back. She'd been wrong. The one thing she wouldn't do was trade his life for Chris'. Chris deserved better than that, and so did she.

Drawing a deep breath, she smoothed her hair back and went into the living room. Chris was sitting on the sofa, his familiar cobalt eyes taking in her appearance with concern. "You've been crying, again."

Jill nodded, unable to manage a smile as she sat beside him. "I had a nightmare," she told him, thinking that it really was the truth. Having Joe come back as an emotionally unstable B.O.W. really was a nightmare!

Chris set a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Joseph's words flashed through her mind, and she shoved them away with resentment. "Hold me for a while?" she asked quietly, determined not to let him come between her and her closet friend.

"Of course." He settled back on the sofa and pulled her into his arms, wrapping the blanket she'd given him around her. He rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes. "Better?"

"Much," she said with a sigh.

And it was. No matter what happened in her life, Chris was always there for her. Yes, he loved her, but not in the way that Joseph had so angrily insisted. And even if he did, she wouldn't be able to turn him away. He and Claire _were_ her family, just as she was theirs.

She thought briefly of telling him the truth about Joe, but decided against it. If Chris found out that Joseph had not only survived, but was infected with the T-virus, he would feel even more guilty than he already did. And once he saw Joseph's emotional instability, it would be even worse. He would be torn between his remorse, and the need to keep _her_ safe.

No, it was best that she keep this to herself, and handle it her own way. She would look into Umbrella's activities here in the city, and try to find a cure for Joseph. God, she had never seen him so angry before! She hadn't even thought him capable of that kind of rage. What if he _had_ gone after Chris? Joe might have killed him!

Jill still couldn't believe that she'd watched him jump from a two story window and _run_ away. He hadn't been hurt, or even phased by the drop. If he was now that strong, there was no way Chris would be able to defend himself, short of killing the other man. And that Chris wouldn't do, simply because of his friendship with _her._

No, Unless Joseph got completely out of hand, she wouldn't tell Chris that he was alive. She would do everything in her power to protect Chris, and help Joseph become human again. But she was very much afraid that their relationship was over, and the knowledge broke her heart all over again.


End file.
